Saints of the Republic
by glycerinedreams
Summary: Blood and murder make her leave love and the Emerald Isle behind to serach for the man who killed her brother. 10 years later, someone knows she's in Boston. Will the man she left behind help? Or will her past haunt her to her grave? MURPHY/O
1. Old Faces

**Chapter One: Old Faces **

"Drop yer gun and put yer hands where I can see 'em"

She felt the cold muzzle of the 92F Beretta press against the nape of her neck. Sighing with a smile, she lifted her hands into the air and lightly tossed her handgun, a Browning High Power, in front of her; within eyesight and possibly within reach. He hadn't touched her yet but Branna knew it was coming. This was one of the Saints. They didn't take their work lightly.

"Thatta girl, now ye do as I say and I might just let ye fancy on outta 'ere. Got that?"

She knew that voice. Remembered it all too well in fact. She nodded her agreement to his suggestion. Branna wasn't ready to let him know she knew him, or for that matter, give him a chance to recognize her. She'd gone to a lot of trouble to disguise her identity.

Her dark hair was tied in a long braid down her back. Upon entering the shipyard she'd pulled on her square shades and pulled the lapels on her leather coat up around her face. She hadn't wanted the boys to know she was here. At least, that was before the MacManus bastard pressed his fucking Beretta into her skull. Now? Now she had no choice. She felt movement behind her and she felt the scrap of plastic against her arm as he cuffed her, or tried too.

As he went for her left arm, Branna dropped to the floor and rolled over to where she'd thrown her handgun. Like a shot, she drew herself up and levelled the Browning at her assailant.

There he stood, Murphy MacManus, same as the last day she'd seen him, nine years ago. He held up his pistol and stared her down. She breathed an inward sigh of relief tha,t face to face, he still didn't recognize her. That was a good sign. For now.

* * * *

Murphy MacManus cocked his pistol, loading a round into the chamber. It was pointed straight at the strange girl's head. He'd seen her scurry into the main warehouse on the shipyard while Connor had been scouting the perimeter. They'd been looking for the best angle to off Silas Kingsley.

Kingsley was one of the few low life gambits they'd yet to have a chance to face. Stealing people's identities and selling them for cheap to the immigrants. Not that Murphy had a problem with selling someone a new lease on life; he'd had to use it once before. The fact that Kingsley killed the people he stole his identities from put him on the hit list.

He'd watched the brod move closer to the warehouse door. She stayed out of the lights, and clung to the buildings. He thought at first she might have been a peddler; some homeless lass looking for a place to sleep. That was until he watched her pull out her piece. He'd tapped Connor on the shoulder, motioned to the girl and Connor nodded.

They almost never had to speak on jobs like this, one did the scouting whilst the other off-ed any possible threats. That was what had led Murphy to the lass in the first place. Now? Now the stupid bitch was pointing a 9mm in his face because he couldn't get the bloody plastic rope out of his coat so he could tie her up. He didn't want to kill her right away. She might have some useful information. But now he was staring down the barrel of her fucking gun. All because of Connor's fascination with fucking rope.

Keeping a straight face he cocked his head in a nod at her gun.

"Not a bad move there lass. That be a nice piece of machinery ye got there. Shiny, ya just pick up the pretty today?"

She smiled smugly and pulled the hammer back, loading a bullet into the chamber.

"Na son, I just like to take care of me weapons. They be the closest thing I got to kin nowadays."

Murphy's eyes widened when he heard the accent. She was Irish. He hadn't seen that one coming.

"What now. Cat got yer tongue there Murph? I'm surprised ye were able to sneak up on me back there. Ye never were too good at being quiet as I remember." She laughed.

Murphy could only stand there, holding out the Beretta in shock. Who the fuck was she? How did she know who he was? His breath caught in his throat as she pulled at her coat, one handed, pulling down her collar and pushing her shades to the top of her head. She cocked an eye at him. With the cover of her shades gone he could clearly see her bright green eyes, and the thin pale scar that ran along the top of her right eyebrow.

"Remember me now? God knows ye should Murphy MacManus." The end of the sentence had an angry tone.

He couldn't speak. It couldn't be. She should not be here. How the fuck did she get here? His chest felt like it was about to explode. She must've thought him dumb because when he didn't answer she tugged angrily at her leather glove with her teeth. Exposing her left hand she held it out at him as she took a bold step forward. If there'd been any doubt in who she was before, there was none now. On her third finger, the ring finger, sat a golden claddagh with a green jewelled heart in the middle.

He was fucked.

* * * *

Branna knew the second she flashed the ring. The only thing she had left to remind her of the past. He knew now who he was dealing with.

"What, dya ferget how to form a cohesive sentence there dear?" she asked. He hadn't said a word after she'd spoken in her natural brogue. "I thought maybe once ye figured out who I was, ye might actually take yer little pistol there and put it back in yer pants where it belongs."

His eyes hardened as she spoke. She recognized the look. He'd had the same look the last time she'd seen him and she'd been covered in someone's blood.

"Branna, how lovely to see ye. Ye haven't changed a bit." he quipped, his voice laced with steel.

She was opening her mouth to reply when she heard two short whipping sounds. Suddenly she felt the burning sensation in her right shoulder and arm. Her handgun wavered and fell to the floor.

"Fucking hell!" she could hear someone shout. "What the fuck is goin' on here brother? Kingsley is already fucking dead. Somebody got him! We gotta get the fuck outta here. What the fuck is this!"

Connor. That was Connors voice. She suddenly realized she was on her knees, reeling from the pain in her arm. Dots swam in front of her eyes and she felt herself falling forward, into Murphy's Beretta. How had he gotten that close? As darkness closed in she cursed herself. The bastard had shot her.

* * * *

"Murphy, what the fuck?" Connor shouted. There was more gunfire coming from the upper deck of the warehouse. He saw the glint of a gold patch on the white of a sleeve. Security. Figures. He fired a few rounds in the direction of the shot. Ducking he grabbed his brother's coat and pulled them both behind a metal support beam. His brother just stared at the bleeding girl. 

"Fucking answer me idiot!"

"It's Branna," was all he said, his face pale. Connors eyes widened.

"Well. Ya got two choices brother. Ye could sit here and watch her bleed out or we can drag her and our own arses the fuck outta here."

Murphy didn't answer; he just dove towards the girl. Picking her up, he lifted her up over his shoulder and jogged to the open door they came in. In Connor's eyes, she looked like a limp rag doll. He scooped up her handgun from the floor, sliding it into his pants. He turned to flank his brother's back.

The percussion of the gunshots off of the steel walls of the warehouse were near deafening. Connor took up the tail, firing rounds as they fled the building. As they ran, he couldn't believe what Murphy'd said.

Branna. How could she be here? The last time he'd seen Branna she'd been a lass of about 24, just a few years shy of he and Murphy. Mind you, she was a dangerous lass if you weren't careful. Murphy'd found out exactly how dangerous on his own. That in itself was enough for Connor to be suspicious of what she was doing in Boston.

* * * *

Branna could barely stay conscious. She knew she was being carried. By whom she couldn't tell.

That fucking bastard shot her.

She had done everything in her power to make sure she couldn't be identified. Working nights, hiding in scummy motels. She'd been in Boston for six months before she found out that the MacManus brothers were there too, much less that they were the infamous Saints. She hadn't even planned on coming to the U.S.A when she got on the boat in Spain. After chasing ghosts for years, she'd finally given up and decided to just get on the next boat and go. Seamus was never coming back. She couldn't find Fitzpatrick and her R.I.R.A. leads were colder than a corpse now. All she'd wanted when she got here was to be left alone.

She laughed to herself. She hadn't even gone to the shipyard warehouse to try and find the MacManus brothers. Once she arrived, she saw from a distance the twin heads moving along a parapet above a building. She had come to collect her "official" U.S.A documents; her green card, her passport, birth certificate and everything. The last six months she spent waiting for her fake identity were wasted. Fucking Murphy MacManus.

* * * *

Back at their safe house, Murphy laid the limp woman down on his mattress. She looked ashen, the colour gone from her face. The thought tugged at a scar he'd hidden for years. He felt strangely happy to at least have somewhere soft to lay her.

"Christ Murph," he cursed softly to himself.

What the fuck was going on. He needed answers, but she was in no condition to give them. She was barely awake. Good, he thought. Connor was busy putting away their hardware so Murphy had a few moments to take in what had just happened.

Branna Ferguson had suddenly waltzed back into his life. Waltzed? More like fucking barrelled her way in. She was still wearing the ring. She had it turned out so it didn't mean what it had meant all those years ago, but she was still fucking wearing it. He couldn't get the image of her all those years ago out of his head. Everyone he knew had said she was a dangerous girl and to never get mixed up too deep with her. He'd been warned and he still stepped into the fire.

_He'd been on his way to visit her, and when he got there he heard a whimper from round the back of the cottage. He ran._

_The first thing he noticed was the blood. It soaked everything. He'd never seen so much blood. He saw her lying on her side in the pool of blood beside the body. He'd wanted to vomit. Gagging he moved toward her. She hadn't moved and his panic began to set in a bit. He moved closer and began to crouch down. _

_"Branna, Branna it's me Murphy-" was all he could get out. In a flash she had a seven inch blade to his throat._

Murphy shook his head of the memory. Connor had already peeled off her jacket and cut off the sleeve of her shirt so they could get a better look at her wounds. The bullet hadn't passed through; that would have been an easy fix. Now he just had to find the round. Her arm needed a few stitches but she'd manage to live another day. Fucking shame.

"Before we try and seal 'er up, ye think we should...?" Connor looked across at him and motioned to the exposed piping in the wall. Murphy nodded.

"Fucking right. I don't need to be blindsided by her right hook."

"Aye, ye should remember it well brother." Connor laughed.

Murphy watched Connor pull out the rope and motion to him to push the mattress up against the wall. He nodded and the two gently nudged the mattress up against a spot on the wall where there was an exposed stud beam. Connor deftly applied the restraint while Murphy turned to grab the first aid kit.

As Murphy turned back he looked down into her open eyes. She grimaced weakly and looked up as she tugged on the arm tied up.

"Ye always were good at tying me up Murph." she joked. He ignored the jibe. He would not let her win this. This was what Branna Ferguson was best at.

"Well I didn't really want to have another fist in me face or blade against me throat Branna. Now yer gonna sit tight while we fix ye up and then, yer gonna give us some fucking answers. Number one being what the fuck are ye doin' in Boston. Got that?"

She nodded, closing her eyes as she twisted herself up into a sitting position. He could tell she was in incredible pain, but she never let it cross her face. She'd always been good at that, Murphy thought, keeping her feelings bundled up tighter than a Celtic knot.

"Just get the fucking bullet out of me shoulder please? It fucking kills." she asked through gritted teeth.

He rolled his eyes and opened the kit he and Connor had put together. He rummaged through the gauze and bandages until he found the forceps. Connor was busy heating up the iron to stop the bleeding. Judging by the blood around the injury, she hadn't lost as much blood at they'd originally thought. Murphy passed the suture kit to Connor and straddled her legs. This was not an angle he particularly enjoyed having to use, but with the bullet having hit her in the front of her shoulder, he had no choice.

"I'm not gonna lie to ye. This'll fucking hurt."

"I've been through worse than this Murph. Just get the fucker outta me shoulder." Branna pressed.

Murphy looked around for something to put between her teeth and all he had was his leather belt. Leaning back he undid it and held it up.

"Open yer mouth and bite down hard." He said. She looked up at him from under her furrowed brows and reluctantly opened her mouth. He placed the leather between her teeth and she bit down. He watched as she carefully slid her tongue underneath.

"Sorry lass, I'll be goin' at yer arm whilst me brother digs out the slug ight?" Connor said softly. He'd already strung the suture and had locked her left arm between his knees so she couldn't move it while they worked. He was waiting for Murphy to give the signal. Well bugger.

"Ok, here goes." He said finally.

Leaning in, he pressed the tips of the forceps into the hole in her shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Connor slip the needle into the tear on her arm. She stiffened at the initial pressure but never made a sound. He pressed harder into the wound and finally found the bullet. He could feel her legs trembling underneath him. The feeling stirred up things he wasn't ready to face. He gave his head a shake. Concentrate here Murph, he told himself. Spreading the utensil he gently gripped the metal and began to pull.

* * * *

Branna wanted to scream. She'd closed her eyes when they started. It felt like her whole left arm was on fire. She couldn't feel the needle slipping through her skin, and the hole in her shoulder… well she wouldn't go there. She knew Connor was going as gently as he could to try and stitch her up but Murphy, she couldn't tell if Murphy was gouging her as some sort of sick retribution or if the bullet was just difficult to remove. She was hoping for the latter.

"Ight now, she be coming out. Connor, ye done with the stitches?" she heard Murphy ask.

"Ye, lemme get the iron; don't pull it out just yet." Connor replied.

She could feel Murphy holding the bullet right at the entry of the wound. They were going to cauterize it now. She'd been fixed up in the field before; she knew what was coming next. The searing heat and the smell of burnt flesh was always nauseating. Branna remembered the first time someone had closed a bullet graze for her. It had been high on her thigh, close to her hip. She'd been forced to be held down. Overtime, she'd learned, you just learn to take the pain because struggling only made it worse.

"Ok Branna, ye make sure to bite down real hard...." she heard Connor say.

She didn't even acknowledge him. They didn't know that she'd spent hours in makeshift infirmaries; they couldn't know that she knew what was happening. She steeled herself against what she was expecting. She could feel the heat of the iron before it touched her skin. Contact followed by darkness. As she slipped into the abyss she thought she heard Murphy whisper, "I'm sorry."


	2. Boston

_**A/N: For those unfamiliar with Irish history and politics, the R.I.R.A are a guerrilla style militia group in Southern Ireland who seek to unite Ireland under one banner. They began in the late 1800's as the Irish Republican Army and after the initial disbandment, became the Real Irish Republican Army. They are a lethal group, using terribly volatile forms of protest - bombs, guns, raids etc. I do not own them, nor do I know anyone in the R.I.R.A, any information about them in this story was garnered using the internet. I apologize in advance for any misconceptions. Hope you all enjoy my first BDS fic! R&R plsthx :) **_

**Chapter 2: Boston**

Sunlight invaded her rather uncomfortable sleep. Branna breathed in deeply. She didn't want to have to open her eyes. If she opened her eyes, it was all real. She hoped that last night had been a really bad dream. Maybe she'd just dreamed Murphy MacManus had put a gun to her head, that she'd been shot, and that her plans of getting herself settled for once were smashed. Kingsley was dead. That thought was enough for her to open her eyes, and fuck it was all too real.

The light fell down in bars across the wooden floor, seeping through the tall blinds on the only window. She was laying down, her right arm stretched out and attached to the leg of a table instead of the wall like last night. She didn't dare move. The throbbing pain in her shoulder told her that if she tried, she would probably curse the day she was born. She instead turned her head to check out her surroundings.

She was laying on an unmade mattress, to her left was another mattress a few feet away and past that there was an open doorway to what she was assuming was the bathroom. To her right, she saw the table and saw that it was right out of a 1960's action flick. A wide smooth base tapered into a smooth cylinder and back out to the tabletop. She saw what she could only describe as a makeshift countertop, a few chairs, the entry door and few cigarette butts. This was their hideout. Their in-between space. This wasn't a living space, it was a place you holed up to hide from someone, or in her case, hold someone hostage.

Turning her head so she was again looking at the dingy, water stained ceiling, she heard the door open to her left. Keys dropped to the table top. Better to get it over with and get out of here before it got any more complicated.

"I'm awake and ready to be badgered." she called out in exhaustion.

It'd been a while since she'd had a serious injury; she'd forgotten how shitty you felt the next day. All she really wanted to go was go home, fall down into her bed, take a pain pill and sleep for the day.

"Badgered? I don't believe we said anything that involved a badger, did we Murph?" Connor replied from above her.

He stood over her, hands in the pocket of his coat with a smirk on his face.

"Na, I didna recall anythin' of the sort brother." Murphy called jokingly from the right.

She heard his boots crunching the grit on the floor and soon he too was towering over her, hands in pockets.

"Just sit me up and I'll answer any question ye got for me. I just want to get the hell out of here and back to me own bed so I can pretend none of this ever happened."

They both crouched down and lifted her, each one supporting an arm. Suddenly blinding pain flashed through her right side.

"FUCK!" she screamed. "You bleeding idgits didn't even untie me first. Any higher and I'd have a dislocated shoulder to add to my list of injuries." She felt tears pricking her eyes, the pain seared right through her chest and into her right shoulder into her left and it felt like all of a sudden someone had run her through on a spike.

"PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN!" she hollered. The men jumped back, releasing her.

She fell back down to the bed, her right arm throbbed now, wrist to shoulder. Wonderful.

"Sorry lass, I s'pose we forgot that we tied ye up there. Couldn't have ye walkin' without an explanation." Connor tried apologizing.

He pulled a short knife down from the table and sliced through the plastic tethering her to the table. The relief she felt as the tension left her arm made her want to shriek in joy. The throb had dulled to an ache on that side now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Murphy rolled back on his heels a few feet away. He was dangling a cigarette out of his mouth and watching her. He'd always been able to make her uneasy with the way he looked at her. No, not looking _at_ her, but _through_ her. His gaze always made her want to check to see if she had anything on at all.

Once she'd been freed from the table, she rolled over to her left side and then, with a groan, over on to her front. Once she had one good arm underneath her she was able to push herself up into a kneeling position on the mattress. She pulled herself into a standing position and the Saints stood with her. She did a quick sweep of the place now that she was upright.

Her leather jacket was flung across the back of one of the chairs, her Browning was no where in sight and an open pack of Marlboros sat on the table. Plucking a smoke out of the package, she walked over to the chair with her jacket. Gripping the cigarette with her lips she grabbed the chair, her arm screamed bloody murder, and dragged it over to the table.

"So what are ye doin' in Boston Branna?" Connor asked, all the laughter had gone out of his voice.

He pulled up a chair and held out a lighter. Murphy had taken to leaning against the wall and seemed to be ignoring her. All the better, she didn't know if she could even begin to explain if he started in with the weird staring. She took the lighter from Connor, flipped it open and inhaled sharply. Exhaling a plume of smoke she cleared her throat.

"I live here. Been here fer almost a year now. I had no bloody clue ye two were even on the same fucking continent much less the same fucking city." She ashed her cigarette on the floor.

"Ye live here? No funny business? 'Cause ye know we'll find out." Connor seemed more relaxed now. Good, she needed them to know she wanted nothing to do with their little business. She'd had enough of it.

"No funny business." She confirmed. "I left Spain by boat, didn't even plan on coming to the great ole U.S. of A m'dear. I'd decided to just go wherever the wind took me. I ended up in Long Island, New York and slowly made me way to a more familiar neighbourhood, folks-wise if ye catch me meaning."

They both nodded their agreement. Nobody asked questions in South Boston. It was mostly Irish neighbourhoods. Murphy'd taken a seat away from the table. He'd lit another smoke.

"No longer working for the Real Irish Republican Army are ye? How'd ye finagle that one? I thought ye said once ye were in there was no getting out?" Murphy said, turning his gaze to her. "How can we be sure ye ain't here to cause us problems?"

Branna sighed.

"I ran. That's how I escaped the R.I.R.A. I went looking for him. Colin Fitzpatrick. I heard he took off the island. He left before I could get to him. Ye know that's the truth Murphy. Ye of all people should know that's the truth. But I'm out. I don't do the killing business anymore. All me leads were turning up dead, me informants disappearin'. I'm tired of covering me tracks, I'm tired of hunting people I can't find, I just want peace. I'd found it here, at least until I stumbled upon two very angry men, one of which put the barrel of his Beretta against me skull."

At the name Fitzpatrick she saw the men stiffen. Colin Fitzpatrick had been a good friend of theirs, until they realized he was neck deep in the Republican Army. They knew why she was after him. They knew what had happened to Seamus.

Everyone knew what had happened to her baby brother. Three years before she'd left home, he'd been killed. Killed two feet from his place of work when a badly made nail bomb exploded in Belfast. Branna'd heard the explosion from across town. She'd never forget the feeling of panic when she arrived at Flaherty's Bookstore. Police tape and armed officers were patrolling. She pushed her way past the onlookers and saw what was left of her family. An arm lay close to where she'd been forced to stop because of the tape. Blood showered the street.

When she'd gotten wind that the Army were the makers of the bomb, she vowed she would kill the fucker who planted the device. Seamus hadn't been the only casualty. She had connections in Ulster. She'd known they were already planning what to do to the Army in retaliation. All she'd needed to know what who had set the bomb and she'd make sure the man never again saw the light of day. She had planned to make him pay. When the Ulster Defence Association came up dry, she'd moved to get into the Army. She'd thought if she could get close enough inside, she'd find him. She'd been wrong. The Army had made her a maggot, a runner. Someone to keep their accounts in line and clean up the occasional mess. She'd been their fucking janitor. After the second year of being the R.I.R.A's Cleaner, when she'd gotten wind that it'd been Fitzpatrick, she'd gone after him.

She'd tracked his sorry ass around the island for weeks, she'd finally nailed down exactly where he was making his death machines and was making arrangements to get her revenge when the Army sent one of their men after her. He'd shown up at her home, menaced her into the garage where he put her on her knees and promised her a short execution. That had been the day Murphy had come over. The last day she ever saw him. Until last night that is.

* * * *

"So ye see I have no plans of gettin' in yer way. I don't want any trouble. I was only down at the shipyard to pick up me papers. Someone with as colourful a history as me can't afford to be raising red flags." Branna had finished, butting out her cigarette on the saucer on the table.

"Well yer papers are gone; I searched Kingsley meself before I found ye and Murphy. That might be a bit of trouble to recover, but we'll find 'em for ye Branna. Consider it me word." Connor said.

He seemed totally at ease. Murphy couldn't believe his brother could sit there and act like nothing had happened. After all that the woman had put Murphy through, his brother would sit there and offer to help her. He might as well have asked her to tea. Fuckin' Grand.

Murphy looked at her. She seemed different from when he'd known her. Different from when he'd first met her. The edge was softer. She still had the edge, he'd seen it last night with her handgun in his face, but it seemed less sharp. The glint in her eyes was gone. For some reason the thought of the sparkle in her eye being dimmed made him feel sad, she'd always been a bright girl, someone easy to laugh with. She wasn't laughing anymore, neither was he for that matter.

The first time he'd ever met Branna Ferguson, they'd been in Ireland for almost a year after leaving Boston. He'd been out with Connor riding the sheep to pasture. She'd been walking down the muddy road with a rucksack across her back. When she saw the sheep coming, she'd moved into the ditch to let them pass. Partway across the road the sheep took a break and she'd taken the opportunity to make conversation.

"Good mornin' to ye. Wonderful weather we be havin' no?" she'd joked. She had looked right up at Murphy, her green eyes sparkling with a smile that lit a fire in Murphy's heart. Wonderful weather was a joke. It had been pouring for days. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead and the mud ran up her legs from her trek.

"As wonderful as it can get in Ireland lass." Connor had said. Murphy couldn't speak. He'd seen beautiful girls before, but there'd been something in her eyes he couldn't get over. Something darker, that his soul could reconcile with.

"Oh I just be goin for a walk. Taking a weekend for meself. The noise of the city can sometimes be a little much. Felt like I needed a bit of peace and quiet."

He was jolted back into the conversation. Tearing his gaze away from her he saw the sheep were starting to move. He pulled his horse forward. He was itching to get away from the girl. He knew just by the look of her that she would be trouble for him. He looked over at Connor, he was making small chat, always the charmer he was.

"I know ye be busy, but would either of ye fellas know where a girl could grab a pint? I be headin' over to the village a few miles back in a few hours. Wouldn't mind warming the bones a bit before I tuck in for the evenin'." She'd asked, adjusting her pack.

"There's a little old place called Ole Boots off of Smith. Run by a good man by the name of John Darcy. Tell him Connor and Murphy sent ye and he'll treat ye well." Connor'd replied with a smile as he moved up beside him.

The sheep had moved into the next field, the way was clear.

"Thanks a lot. Well," she looked over at Murphy, flashing him one of her brilliant smiles.

"Ye lads have a good day. Maybe I'll see ye over the weekend." and then she was gone, trudging through the muck.

He hadn't known then that she'd been the Army's personal custodian. He'd found out that she had connections with some of the more serious gang folk, but by the time he knew, it'd been too late. She'd already had him under her spell. Never in a million years would he have guessed her connection to the Irish Republic. If he'd have known, maybe things would have been different, maybe he wouldn't feel sick staring at her now, remembering everything he'd felt back then.

The sunlight caught the emerald on the ring on her left hand as she propped her arm on the table. He could tell she was toughing out the pain. The less she moved the less pain he saw in her eyes. Watching the light play on the gemstone set on the ring pulled his chest tight. Enough of this. He wasn't going to let the past burrow its way into the present. Not now. He narrowed his eyes and pointed at it.

"Why are ye wearing it." He could barely keep the malice from his voice.

He watched her eyes change from empty and tired to green glass. She pulled her left arm close and with a tug ripped the ring from her hand and threw it on the table.

"Because it was a reminder of the home I could've had, had I had any sense. Ye can have it back, I know now that I'll never have what I went looking for, nor will I have what I wanted most in this world. I gave up hope on that a long while ago." She cursed.

"Thanks, not like it'll get anything at a pawn shop. Wasn't worth anything in the first place." The cocky overtone in his voice rang out across the table.

For the first time since he'd seen her, a look of pure despair passed over her face. It lasted seconds before she replaced it with her war face.

"Fuck you Murphy MacManus." She growled.

Standing she turned to Connor, "Where the fuck is me fucking gun."

Connor nodded in the direction of the door. She turned on her heel and stormed over to the counter, grabbing the gun and its clip. She opened the door and turned back, glaring at Murphy. If looks could kill, he'd have been dead where he sat.

"I'll keep yer fucking secret, but don't ye ever let me catch wind that ye be anywhere near me. If I so much as see yer face, I will kill ye." She turned and closed the door with a slam. They could hear her boots all the way down the stairs to the front door.

* * * *

"What the fuck is yer problem?" Murphy scowled at his brother.

"What the fuck is yer problem?" Connor retorted as he rose to retrieve a beer from the box beside the door.

"Me problem? Me fucking problem? Oh I dunno brother maybe it has a little something to do with the fact that ye just offered to help the woman who fucking broke me fucking heart? That's me fucking problem!" Murphy was shouting now.

"Did ya just fucking forget? Three years man. The last time I see her she's got a knife to me throat, and next thing I know she's gone. Poof. Disappeared. No fucking word for almost ten fucking years, then all of a sudden out of fucking nowhere she shows up, and she's still wearing me bloody ring. She might as well have slapped me in the fucking face. And you! Oh, you and yer fucking need to be fucking polite. She doesn't deserve our fucking help!"

"Oh come on now Murphy! Ye know better than anyone why she left for chrissakes. I know for a fact that ye spent days tracking down all her contacts, trying to find her no? Ye had to know it had something to do with Colin. She never could let it go. She couldn't rest with her fucking brother's murderer on the streets. Fer fucks sake; ye should understand now better than before how she feels. We lost Da! Sorry if I can relate to her little quest a bit more now. Put yerself in her fucking shoes!" Connor shouted back.

Murphy stood up, he kicked the chair he'd been sitting on. It tumbled backwards into the wall. He came face to face with his brother, stared him down.

"Ye just don't fuckin' get it do ye?"

He turned on his heel and strode out of the apartment, slamming the door on his way.


	3. Moments

_**A/N: Chapter three is up and running! So far I haven't had anyone beta this so if you would like a chance to get the chapters before I post them, please send me an email or private message via the site. Would love some outside opinion on the characters and plot. Hope you enjoy this little tidbit, more is coming I promise! Don't forget to R&R! **_

**Chapter 3: Moments**

It'd been weeks since the incident at the shipyard. She'd had no word about her papers. She was strangely saddened she hadn't heard from at least Connor. He'd at least been mildly pleasant to her.

"Mind ye, ye did threaten to kill 'em if ye ever saw 'em again." she muttered to herself as she lit a cigarette and sat down at her table.

Leaning back she rested her neck on the back of the chair as she inhaled the nicotine. Her fingers traced where her claddagh had once sat. The bastard. She knew he was only trying to get a rise out of her, and it had worked like a charm. Good riddance, she thought to herself, the less ye carry with ye from the past, the better off ye are.

Her arm still hurt like a bitch, but the stitches were done well enough that she could pull them out in a few days and the scar wouldn't be terrible, a thin line that was a penny in length. The burn that covered her bullet wound was nearly healed, fresh pink scar tissue peeked out from underneath her tank top. It would take more than couple of weeks for the ache to subside. She needed to work the muscle more.

With a groan she sat up and put her lit smoke in the ashtray. Craning her neck to stretch it out, she padded barefoot through the morning sunshine spilling into her living room. She flipped the latch off her punching bag and bent down to pick up her wraps.

She hooked her thumb into one and began to loop the fabric around her knuckles. As she wrapped, she paced around her small apartment. It was the fourth floor of a loft style building. They were a plenty down in South Boston. Her "living room" as she called it, was a corner of the open space near the window. Her couch pressed back against the window, facing the door to her fire escape/balconette. She stepped up onto the worn cushion and nudged the window open with her good elbow. The fresh spring air wafted in, bringing the smells of the baker below with it.

Having secured her wraps, she stepped back up to the bag. As she rolled onto the balls of her feet she began to sway back and forth, she started slowly giving the bag a left right manoeuvre. The more she hit, the faster she moved. Her feet jogged back and forth and she began landing harder hits, a jab to the left, a hook to the right, the occasional uppercut thrown in for good measure. Boxing had always been a past time for her, even before she got involved with the Republican Army, and after she joined ranks with the Army, boxing helped her keep her on the ball. The resistance of the bag made her want to move it even more. It was almost like dancing, something she wasn't any good at. Hitting people however, well that was just more her style.

As she pounded the leather bag, she let her thoughts wander. As she landed a hard right hook, she felt her shoulder give a little. She saw Murphy MacManus's face the first time she'd ever hit him. It had been totally by accident, but the bruise had lasted for weeks.

_She was swinging. The bitch thought she was something special. Branna could tell. She could always tell the ones who thought they were tough shit. Well, she asked for it. She weighed her options as she stood facing the red headed woman, fists up. _

_"Go on, hit me ye bleedin' eejit. I dare ye." the girl called. Before she could even open her pissflap of a mouth, Branna had laid into her. The ruckus led to a few other patrons, particurlarly of the male variety, swarming in. Someone went to grab her from behind and she swung, planting a punch square in the face of the quiet blue eyed man she'd seen earlier that day out in the country. _

_"Fuckin' hell woman. What's got inta yer head?" he exclaimed, clutching the right side of his face. She was shell shocked. She would have remembered those eyes anywhere. Clear pale pools of blue set in a wide face. Those eyes held things that she couldn't quite put to words. Right now there was anger 'bout ready to flood the gates. Before she could offer an apology, the man grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the street. She could hear the angry woman inside screaming bloody murder._

_"Good lord, I- I'm sorry." she stuttered out. He was pulling her across the road to a bench facing the town square. _

_"S'alright I s'pose, but fuck woman. Ye coulda warned me first that ye had a bitch of a right hook." he rubbed the injury and sat down. _

_"That bloody woman spilt her drink all over me clean jeans and then proceeded to scream at me for stealin' her man. I was sitting all quiet just enjoying me beer, she started it!" Branna bristled. _

_Who was he to drag her out of a perfectly good brawl? Normally, she was the one having to defend herself. This time, she'd done nothing wrong and he'd gone and busted up her fun. _

_"Maybe so, but dontcha think that fightin' a local on her home turf was a wee bit retarded?" he looked up at her pointedly. _

_He had a point. She relented and sat down on the bench. _

_"I really am sorry y'know. I never meant to cause trouble at yer local watering hole. Tell yer friend there that alas I don't think that John Darcy'll be treating me too well should I come back." _

_"Brother." he said. _

_"Come again?" _

_"He ain't me friend, he's me brother. Connor, the one who told ye to go there in the first place." _

_"Well then, tell yer brother that I be terribly sorry if what I did causes the two of you grief with Mr. Darcy. I'm Branna by the way. Branna Ferguson." she offered her hand. He took it up and gave it a light shake. _

_"Murphy MacManus." _

Snapping back to reality, Branna threw all her weight into her next punch. The pain soared through her right shoulder making her gasp and clutch the injured muscles that were throbbing with pain. Fucking Murphy MacManus. How could that man have gotten so close to her heart? There was something volatile in his soul that seemed to call out to her own, kindred spirits someone had once told her.

Taking a deep breath, she released her arm and pushed her bangs off her sweaty forehead. Her skin was slick with perspiration. She should call it quits for a day, wouldn't do to overwork the muscle back into injury. Looking up at the clock hung on the wall she saw she'd been at it almost 45 minutes. Behind her, she heard the floorboards creak. Spinning around she swung with her arm and connected with skull. Her knuckles throbbed under the wraps. The intruder fell back, groaning from the impact. She raised both her fists, ready to strike again if he came for her.

When the stranger stood up Branna immediately saw that it was indeed no stranger but Connor MacManus, reeling in the middle of her apartment.

"Fer fucks sake Connor, ye scared the bejesus right out of me." she didn't offer an apology. Instead she walked over to him and pulled him a chair.

"Take a seat, I gave ya good whollop."

"Aye, a whollop is right. I forgot how well ye packed a punch. I seem to recall that bein' Murph's jurisdiction." he joked weakly, taking a seat. "Fuck woman, ye really beaned me. Fair play."

With a sigh, she sat down across the table from him and lit herself a cigarette.

"What are ye doin' here Connor. How the fuck did ye even get in here? " she asked pointedly.

"I found yer papers. Did a bit of askin' around, they'd been given to some little punk way on the other side of town. Didn't take too much to get 'em back fer ye." he explained as he pulled the documents out of his coat.

"As fer how I got in here, lets just say ye got a wonderful little old lady on the first floor who was more than willing to let a strapping young man as handsome as I in to visit the nice girl who lived upstairs." he laughed.

"Ah, Mrs. Hennessy. She's a dear, not quite up to speed on things, but sweet enough." she smirked.

"Ta be quite honest, when I didn't hear from ye, I figured me threat might've kept ye from it." she added. She pulled the papers over to her and began to flick through them.

"Branna, I gave ye me word. I know yer threat wasn't directed at me, and I'd like to believe it was an idle threat. The Branna I knew couldn't follow through on something like that." he said leaning forward.

"Truth be told Connor, ye didn't really know me too well." she countered, handing him a light. He lit the cigarette and passed it back to her.

"Perhaps, but I know me brother, and I know he doesna fall easy. He fell like a lead balloon fer ye. Say what ye will but I din want to think that the girl who stole me brother's heart away could shoot him faster than she can blink."

"Ye know nothing of the sort. Ten years is a long time. People change. I changed. What Murph and I had all those years ago… it was… " she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Whatever it was, it's over now." she resigned.

"Aye, people change." was all he said. Standing, he rubbed the side of his head and flashed her a smile.

"All the shootin' aside, was nice to see a familiar face. Maybe we'll see ye around town, now that ye aren't gunnin' fer us anymore."

"Perhaps." Branna smiled. Unlikely, she thought.

As Connor turned to leave, she stood abruptly.

"Con," she called. He turned back. "Thanks for fixin' me up. Ye did a good job with the stitches."

"Ah, wasn't anything special. Just don't be askin' me to mend yer shirts. Murphy learned that the hard way." he winked and started for the door, giving her a quick wave as he closed the door.

* * * *

Downtown, Murphy was sitting in the cathedral. He was watching the priest meander through the wide open aisle while the altar boys prepared for service tomorrow morning. It was a quite Saturday morning. Quiet everywhere except in his head.

He couldn't get the image of Branna out of his head. Her thick chocolate brown hair in that braid, wisps too short to be restrained hanging loosely around her blank face. Her eyes, hardened as she'd pointed the gun at him. She would've shot him if she hadn't been shot first. What the fuck was he doing? Why wouldn't the woman just let him be? She'd been the one to disappear.

_When her eyes finally saw who she was holding the knife too, panic swept through them. Dropping the weapon, she scrambled backwards, dragging herself through the blood as she tried to put as much distance as she could between them._

_"God, Murphy, I-" she'd started. _

_"What the fuck is happenin' Branna? Why the fuck is there a dead body on yer floor and what the fuck are ye doin' covered in blood?" he asked. _

_He was kneeling in the blood now. When he'd realized this, he'd shot upright. Pacing back and forth he saw Branna, out of the corner of his eye, shakily trying to pull herself up into a standing position. _

_"Ye don't understand Murph, he'd come to kill me. The Army'd sent him. I was getting' to close, I was sloppy -" _

_At the words "kill me" he'd stared wide-eyed at her. _

_"The Army? Kill ye? What for? Close to what? Goddamnit all to fucking hell, ye better start explaining." _

_"I'm the Army's cleaner. I tie up loose ends, make sure their accounts are paid in full." she said with resignation. Obviously, she hadn't wanted him to know that. For good reason. She stood before him, covered in blood, her beautiful green eyes hollow._

_"They sent him. He came to kill me for goin' after Colin Fitzpatrick, the man who set the bomb that killed Seamus." she breathed. "Ye don't understand, this is bigger than me." _

_"Ye were goin' after Colin Fitzpatrick? Are ye bloody daft? The man lives with AK forty-fucking-sevens under his pillow at night! There was no fucking way you'd ever have been able to get close enough!" he'd started shouting. _

_How could he explain that he knew exactly what she was talking about? That he understood the dark pull to follow the evil into its bed. He couldn't very tell her about Boston. He knew what those men were capable of. Did she? Or was she just another Rocco, a lackey that was expendable when they said so? _

_"I had to. Ye have to understand Murphy. This was it. Once I had him, once I knew he could never hurt another human being again, I was done. I want to disappear with ye Murphy MacManus." she'd come forward then, close enough that he could see the slice across her eyebrow, leaving a trail of blood down her cheek. _

_She'd started to cry then, tears mixed with blood. She reached for him, to pull him close. He couldn't. The sting of betrayal sat too close to the surface right now. Backing away he shook his head in disbelief. _

_"Disappear with me? Fuck! Seems I barely even knew ye! Siding up with the Army? Doin' their fucking dirty work? Yer lucky ye got an eejit who didn't know how to use a fucking knife dear, cause had it been me after ye, ye wouldn't be the one standing right now. I just can't fucking deal with this shit. I don't even fucking know ye." _

_He watched as what he was saying registered in her head. Her eyes widened, he saw the lump rising in her throat. God, was he so sick in the head that even covered in blood, he found her as beautiful as an angel? He closed his eyes, trying to replace the Branna he saw now, as regal as the angel of death covered in another man's blood, with the Branna he'd thought he'd known just days before, laughing and smiling as they spent afternoons laying in bed. _

_"Murph, love, please. Please, ye know me. Ye know me better than anyone in this whole wide fucking world. Please, ye just have to understand…" he heard her plead. Stiffening his resolve, he took yet another step back. _

_"I think I understand well enough." _

_He'd left her there. Left her to clean up her own bloody mess. The next day he'd heard she'd left. His beautiful Irish angel, gone. _

The cathedrals bells chimed the noon hour. The clanging melody brought him back to where he was.

"Father forgive me." he whispered as he made his way out of the church.


	4. Message Received

**Chapter 4: Message Received **

Murphy knew Connor had gone to give Branna her papers. Murphy didn't think he could stand looking her in the face again so he left him to go alone. He knew the address, Connor left it on a piece of paper by the door first thing that morning, probably because he knew Murphy would find a way to go over there eventually. He always did know just what Murphy would do in the end.

Walking down the busy street, he pulled his coat up around his face, wouldn't do to have too many people recognize him. After he and Connor'd been released from Hoag, well lets just say they were more than just famous now. They were close to fucking celebrities.

He turned a corner and saw the entry to her building. Fourth floor, that was what the paper said. It looked like a dump of a place. Reaching for the door, he found it locked. There wasn't a buzzer. Never were on places like this. He and Con had had a place similar to this, before they'd been called to fulfill God's will. With a sigh, he turned to see if there was another way to get in.

That was when he saw the alley. He looked to see if anyone had been following him, mostly out of habit, and turned to investigate. Looking up, he saw the stairs to the fire escape. With a grunt, he jumped to grab the ladder. It came down easily enough under his weight. Grasping it with both sides, he began to climb.

He hoped he had the right side of the building. Standing on the balconette of the fourth floor, he peered through the small window of the door that led into the loft. He couldn't see anyone, that didn't mean someone wasn't there. Giving the handle a try, he found it swung open easily.

The loft was simply a wide open space and it was obviously a woman's. She'd placed a screen artfully in front of the loo, there were pictures hung in attempt to make the place a little more liveable, and for fucks sake, there were bloody curtains over the shower. Which by the sound of it, was exactly where she was now.

He looked around, picking up the occasional knickknack, inspecting it while he tried to avert his eyes from the evidently naked woman on the other side of the screen. She was humming a tune, oblivious to the world. He saw a punching bag strapped to the wall by the couch, apparently, tying her up that night had been a fantastic idea.

"… tis you, tis you must go, and I must bide," she sang.

He raised his eyebrows at recognition of the song, he turned to the curtain and blurted,

"Fucking 'Danny Boy'?"

The singing abruptly stopped. He stood rigid. Fuck, this was going to go worse than he'd originally imagined.

"That better not be Murphy MacManus standing in me living room spying on me like a pervert." he heard her voice call out.

He could hear the razor sharp edge in the tone of her voice. Stretching his neck, he replied,

"And if it was?"

He heard her mumble a few curses, something to the effect of fuck, damn and Jesus all rolled into one. He had to fix this. This was not how he'd thought it out in his head.

"Not sure God's up to fucking today," he said.

"Oh may the beasts devour yer fucking soul," she retorted, her figure outlined in the curtain as she pulled it aside to look at him. Flipping her hand at him she said,

"Ye mind? I'd like to make meself decent if ye be here to fight with me."

"Fine with me," he muttered turning his head.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her gingerly reach for a towel on the floor. She quickly wrapped it around her, concealing anything he might have once been driven mad by. Not quick enough that he couldn't see the tattoo of a cross on her shoulder blade that trailed down into pin pricks of black that he couldn't make out from this distance. The sight of her nearly naked made his heart race. That was definitely not how he had it planned out. All he wanted were answers. Pure and honest answers. Not to chub up because he was peeking.

"Oi, ye can look now, even though I saw ye peeking. Still a cheeky fucker are we Murph?" she said with a smirk.

Turning to face her, he saw that she was now dressed in a pair of dark, fitted jeans, complete with a purple t-shirt that came down in a V, hinting at what he knew from personal experience were a lovely set of breasts.

"It ain't nothin' I haven't seen before love." he mocked gently.

Sighing, she motioned to the couch.

"Ye might as well take a seat. Yer here for a reason Murphy. Don't tell me that ye were in the neighbourhood."

* * * *

Branna eyed him suspiciously. Had Connor said anything to him about their little conversation earlier? As she watched him stride over to the couch, she was going to err on the side of probably not. He looked terrified. Uncertainty splashed across his face.

Picking up her towel from where she'd laid it on the small coffee table, she began to wring out her hair. It was almost too long now, nearly reaching her elbows. She sat in the chair opposite the couch. Minutes passed and no one spoke. It seemed like every time it looked like he was about to say something, he couldn't get it out.

"Just spit it out for chrissakes! There's too much past between us for this god awful silence." she finally said.

Running her fingers through her wet hair she sighed. Had he always been this difficult to talk too? She couldn't remember. Time had worn away most of those memories. Her words seemed to take effect because he rubbed a hand over his face and looked directly at her. An expression of pain seemed to flash across his face as he asked the first question.

"Why did ye leave without saying goodbye?"

"Murphy, what was I s'posed to do? The last thing ye said to me was that ye didn't even know me. I was scared, in shock, covered in a dead man's blood with the man I loved staring at me like I was fuckin' mad woman. Would ye have rather I'd shown up at yer house with tea and said 'Hey love, I know ye just saw me last night after a bloodbath, but I thought I'd swing by today and see if ye were up to a stroll in the countryside?' Not fucking likely. All I knew at that moment was that ye were gone, I was as good as dead and all me hard work in tracking down Fitzpatrick was in the bin." she said exasperatedly.

"What did ye expect?" he replied sharply. "I had just witnessed my fiancée curled up against a dead body, knife in hand telling me she was riding for the Republic and on a suicide mission to kill one of their top men in the arms department?"

Branna straightened.

"Ye had no fucking clue Murphy. Ye didn't understand how important getting Fitzpatrick had become to me. I couldn't make ye understand."

"Ye keep sayin' that to me, that I didn't understand. Well newsflash, I understood ye a lot better than ye thought. Look at what me and me brother do fer a fucking living!" he raised his voice and leaned forward waving his arm out to emphasize his point.

Fire in her eyes, Branna leaned in too. Leaned in close enough so she could've read the lines in his face had she wanted to.

"Well, had ye maybe told me about yer little thing here in Boston I may have relaxed, instead of freaked about having ye see me in such a mess. God! I never wanted ye to know what I was doing. I never wanted to bring ye into it. Fuck, I was trying to protect ye!" she was shouting at him. He didn't even flinch.

She felt her adrenaline rising, he was a rock. Tension built in the air around them. She could feel it swirling its ugly head between them. All she could see were his eyes, those pale blue eyes that could see right through her, into her very essence it felt like. She could stare into those eyes for hours. God it was so easy to lose herself in him. Even after all this time, her body wanted nothing more than to fall into those arms of his. But that was over. She exhaled sharply.

"Protect me?" He laughed sarcastically leaning back in his seat. "Well thanks for taking me into consideration whilst making yer little one man army plans darlin', but I can protect meself."

The tone of his voice made her blood rage. How dare he come here, after the way he treated her, break into her home for that matter, and demand she answer his questions.

"Who the fuck d'ye think ye are? Barging in here, asking me to explain meself! Far as I saw, the last time we spoke, we were done talking."

He stood up.

"Are we?" He was breathing hard. His hands clenched into fists. "Cause I think there be a lot more to say here than just 'I didn't understand'!" he screamed.

Branna stood now; she stalked around the table and planted her fists on her hips. She stepped right up into his face. She shrieked into his face,

"Don't! Don't do it! Don't be making this more than what it is Murphy! Ye came here fer answers, that's all. I don't -" he'd closed the gap, grabbing her arms and crushing her lips with kiss.

* * * *

What the fuck was he doing? Get a hold of yerself Murph, he told himself. But she was so close, inches away. His heart beating faster than a drum, he felt her stiff as a board against him. His hands held her wrists firm; he could feel she was fighting the urge to push him away. Fuck! What was he doing? Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gathering everything he had, he released her.

Within seconds she was opening her mouth,

"Who the fuck told ye it'd be ok to do that!" she cried.

"I'm sorry, Branna, look I-" he started apologizing, but she wouldn't let him.

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him in; kissing him as hard as he'd kissed her. He leaned back in shock. What was happening? She leaned with him. Instinct called his hands and they flew up to cup her face and neck as her arms snaked around under his to wrap herself around him. As he moved his lips in sync with hers he couldn't help but feel as if he wanted to crawl into her. The way her body felt under his hands, his hand gripping the back of her head as they stood there. Fuck he'd missed this. When she kissed him, it was like stepping into a broiler. The flames smouldered around them, enveloping them; it felt like his soul was on fire.

What the fuck was happening? For weeks, all he hoped was that he would never have to see Branna Ferguson again. Yet here he was, holding her to him as his lips ravaged her face and neck. God she smelled so good. She smelled like home. Wait, he told himself, this is fucking insane! This can't happen; this isn't what ye came here for.

He ripped himself away from her. She was panting, her lips red from his kisses and her lovely hair, still wet, hanging in tangles around her shoulders.

"Fuck, what are we doing Branna?" he asked.

Before she could answer, a large envelope was slid under her door with force. They could hear heavy footsteps in the hall making a hasty exit down the stairs. Branna ran to the door, picked up the envelope and opened it. Her hands shook as she pulled out the pieces of paper.

"What is it Branna? Ye gonna read yer fucking mail instead of talk to me about what just happened?" Murphy asked again with irritation.

She didn't answer him. His anger boiled to the surface.

"Just fucking typical! Ye always were good at ignoring the matter at hand."

When she still didn't give up a reply, he felt like a caged gorilla. Stalking towards her, he shoved the kitchen chairs out of his way.

"Answer me!" he raged.

His screams seemed to rouse her from the letter. She looked up at him, a look of panic crossed her face, and she threw the papers on the floor. She flew to the door, ripping her gun from the holster hooked on the wall, and took off into the hallway.

* * * *

Branna looked down the street to her left. There was no one. Her bare feet were cool against the warming pavement as she took off running. She'd tucked the Browning into the back of her pants. As she ran she scanned for any sign of who might have left the letter.

Who the fuck could possibly know? She panicked. In the envelope were pictures and a note. The pictures were of the night she'd been in the standoff with Murphy at the shipyard. One image, the one of her pointing the High Power in his face was close range. Close enough that she could make out the scar on her eyebrow with ease. The note had read, "_Making friends are we Branna? Not for long. He knows you're here_." It couldn't possibly be. No where, in all her long search did anything turn up that would have led him here. He couldn't, he just couldn't.

She rounded another corner and slowed down. Catching her breath she leaned over, resting her hands on her knees. The mysterious deliveryman no where to be found, Branna turned her thoughts to what had just transpired a few blocks over.

He'd fucking kissed her! The bastard had fucking kissed her. At first, she'd been insulted. That he thought he could just lay his hands on her like that. After he'd let her go, she'd seen the panic cross his face, he hadn't meant to do it. But god! It had felt amazing, like it always had, back when they weren't standing on opposite sides of the fence.

Then, to her utter amazement, she'd kissed him back.

_That_ had been something. It was like he was the drug and she the addict. She hadn't wanted to let the past infiltrate the present, but when she saw him standing there, fists clenched, tension riddling his frame. His eyes flicking through the multitude of emotions as he tried to apologize. She could feel the tug, the gentle pull that whispered "maybe…". It was like trying to escape the song of a siren.

Branna had always known that there was something secretly toxic about their love. When they'd first began their courtship, all those many years ago, she could see the dark shadows in his eyes. It had been that darkness that had drawn her in the first place, as if she could take comfort in knowing that she wasn't the only one who seemed to have secrets. He'd known she had secrets, but it hadn't mattered. He never asked, and she never felt the need to explain. Her soul understood his in a way she couldn't explain, like they'd had this inconceivable connection that couldn't be brought to words. As it had turned out, their souls had more in common than they'd originally planned.

"Branna!" she heard from behind her.

She stood up, gulping a deep breath of air as she turned around to see Murphy running up the sidewalk in her direction. Closing her eyes she let out an small groan. What the fuck were they going to do now? Could she pretend that it never happened? That she hadn't liked the feeling of his hands on her? Even revelled in it to its fullest extent?

He closed the distance in a few short strides and it was then that she saw he had papers in his hand. Fuck, he'd looked at the photos. Why wouldn't he? Branna cursed, she'd only thrown them down right in front of him and taken off like a crazy woman.

"I couldna' find him. He disappeared." she said breathlessly.

"What is goin' on with ye woman? One minute yer tellin' me ye be done with all this shit, next thing I see ye got secret messages being passed under yer door with pictures of ye, and me fer that matter!" he exclaimed in hushed tones on the busy street. "Who knows yer here?" he added.

Branna looked straight into his face and sighed. He wasn't going to like this. Even less when she told him he had to keep his nose out of it. This wasn't a job for the Saints of South Boston.

"I think it might be Colin. No, I know it has to be Colin. Though how he figured it out I have no bloody idea."

He straightened. The look of fury in his eyes changed into concern.

"Ye sure 'bout that? Ye thinkin' that rat faced bastard could be in Boston?" he asked.

She could see the wheels turning in his head. He was already thinking of ways to track Fitzpatrick down and murder him. She watched as he paced back and forth, running a hand through his fine brown hair. He looked so distraught. If it had been another time and place, if she didn't have the possibility of Colin Fitzpatrick hunting her down, she might have laughed even. He'd always been as readable as a child's books. It was another one of those reasons she'd felt drawn to him, as if his inability to hide what he felt or thought countered her own inability to express in words her own emotions.

"No Murphy. Ye can't. This has nothin' ta do with ye. Let me handle me business. Ye go back to yer brother, and back to whatever godforsaken job ye may have on yer plate. I don't need ye meddling in things ye can't even begin to comprehend!" She grabbed his arm, turning him to face her.

* * * *

He stopped abruptly and looked at her. She looked like a child, barefooted, hands on her hips, huffing and puffing about the big bad fucking wolf. Had he heard her right? She didn't want him meddling in her business? Did she not realize that having those photographs automatically made it his business?

"Come with me ye stubborn wench," he grunted as he grabbed her arm.

"This," he held up the pictures, "This makes it me business."


	5. Saints Row

A/N: I have found a lovely beta reader named Batman McGhee who is just as into this story as I am so I apologize in advance if I don't update as often as I would most certainly like to. Good news is that I have another 2 or 3 chapters up my sleeve to post in a few days time. Happy Reading! Don't forget to R&R!

Chapter 5: Saints Row

He dragged her down the street by her elbow. She was struggling, but following. Murphy cursed under his breath and clasped her arm tighter. He had to explain to her the seriousness of what she had just been given. Before he could do that however, he had to get out of the public eye. People were starting to stare at the pair of them arguing in hushed voices. He could hear her swearing up a storm behind him and as they rounded a corner, a searing pain flashed through his arm.

"Hit me all ye like, yer coming with me… there is something I have to tell ye but I can't do it here." He said over his shoulder. It was only a few more blocks to his apartment with Connor; soon he could let her go.

He heard her snort in indignation.

"Seriously Murphy, ye need to stop acting like such a child. If ye had said that this had something to do with yer job I'd have listened! Christ, instead ye harden yer eyes, grab me square round the elbow and march me off to god knows where like I'm the one being punished." Then she laughed,

"This some serious Clint Eastwood shit yer doin', acting all macho. Ye may be tough shit Murphy MacManus, but ye have to know by now that I can see through ye."

Taking a deep breath he restrained himself. He couldn't believe he was going to admit this in public, to a woman much less. Fucking Connor.

"Charlie Bronson." He corrected.

"Pardon me?" she asked incredulously.

Yer thinking Charlie Bronson, and no, I'm not acting like a tough shit, though I don't know fer sure if ye even know what the word tough means." He smirked to himself as he listened to her huff at the statement.

"If I thought that 'acting tough on ye' would do ye some good I'd have already done it. We're going to see Connor, maybe he'll be able to help me get this through yer thick head, ye can't do this alone anymore."

She sighed, "Ye know… I'm bloody bare foot, dragging me around like this isn't going to get us anywhere faster."

Murphy rolled his eyes. God, give me strength, he prayed silently.

"We're almost there; can yer poor little feet take another step or two? This is the fucking door." He replied flippantly as he ripped open the door to the building and shoved her inside.

* * * *

Connor looked up from the newspaper he was reading at the kitchen table. Murphy was back.

"We got a fucking problem." his brother called as he dragged a dishevelled looking Branna in through the front door. Connor cleared his throat and neatly folded the paper before setting it down.

"And what might that be brother?" he answered.

Murphy gave him a look and tossed a handful of papers down onto the table. He then turned and shrugged his coat off, lobbing it across the room where it landed in a pile on the floor. Branna was standing in entry, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. She looked a mess, her hair sticking out at odd angles and, as Connor noticed, she had no shoes on.

"Feeling a wee bit hippy today are we lass?" Connor jibed. Her scowl told him probably not.

Murphy hadn't said anything, he just pointed to the papers he'd thrown on the table. Connor pulled them towards him and began to flip through them. The first thing he saw were the pictures. Black and white, taken with a night vision camera obviously. The first one was of Branna with Murphy's pistol cocked at her head. He frowned. The second shot was a close up of Branna and Murphy in a standoff. It was a higher angled shot. Branna's face was clear as day, he could see Murphy's tattoo and the side of his face. The last, was of the three of them fleeing the scene. Murphy was lifting Branna over his shoulder and his face was clearly visible. Connor saw himself picking up Branna's gun as he fired a few rounds. This was a problem.

"Aye," was all he could muster.

"Did ye read the note?" Murphy asked in frustration. He was pacing back and forth slamming his hands down on the counter.

Connor looked through the pictures again and found the note card stuck to the back of one of them. Reading it over, he frowned deeper.

"Where did ye find these Murph?"

Murphy pointed over at the angry woman he'd obviously forced here against her will. Branna licked her lips and came forward. She ripped the chair away from the table and threw herself down into it.

"Well seein' as yer stupid brother here dragged me 12 blocks because he doesn't use his fucking ears," she thrust a finger in Murphy's direction. Connor smirked.

"He came over today to have 'chat' with me, and while he was manhandlin' me, someone pushed this under me door." she explained as she took a cigarette out of the open pack on the table.

"MANHANDLIN' YE?" his brothers face went red. "MANHANDLIN' YE? If I do recall right, YE were the one who jumped me bones while this was being delivered!"

Connor raised an eyebrow. He looked at Branna. Her eyes went wide.

"Ye started it first Murphy MacManus! Ye were the one-"

"Oi, I don't need to know what the fuck happened between the two of ye, that's not me concern. Me concern be with who sent this to ye." He interjected, raising his hands up.

When Connor wouldn't hear none of it, both Branna and Murphy started hollering at each other. Curses flying like knives through the air, they were waving their arms and he couldn't make out one word of what they were saying.

The pair of them, it was ridiculous. Connor felt like he was dealing with two teenagers. It had always been like this with the two of them. They couldn't go two minutes without a scrap. He knew that part of it was his twin's failure to see reason and part of it was Branna's inability to realize that she wasn't always right. The other part? Connor didn't think he'd ever figure it out.

They were standing toe to toe now. Murphy was flailing his arms around while Branna jabbed a finger into his chest. Shaking his head at the sight, Connor tried to interject.

"Shut it!" they both screamed at him before returning to their argument.

That was it. Connor stepped between the two of them and placed a hand on either shoulder giving them a hard shove. They fell back, silenced. Finally, he sighed.

"Shut yer gobs! We got more to worry about here than who did what where and to whom. I don't give a rat's ass what the fuck happened. What I need to know now, which neither of ye have been courteous enough to tell me, is WHO THE FUCK SENT THESE!"

* * * *

Branna stared at Connor. He was standing in between her and Murphy. Sliding a glare over in his general direction, she turned back to Connor.

"Colin. At least, that's the only person I can think of who would have anything against me."

She saw the recognition fall across his face. Nodding he turned back to the table and picked up the papers.

"She wasn't gonna bring this to our attention!" Murphy added angrily. "Apparently, 'this isn't our business'," he imitated her with air quotes.

"That's because ye ain't got a bloody clue as to what yer dealing with! He's obviously just tryin' to scare me. I always knew he was keeping tabs on me, that's how I could never find him! Ye don't need to be me cavalry. I'm a big girl Murphy! I managed all those years without ye, I don't need ye now!" she spat.

Almost immediately, she regretted it. Her chest pulled tight when she saw the angry pain flicker in his eyes.

"Maybe yer right. Maybe Con, we should just let her go and get herself killed. I don't even know why I'm botherin'. We don't need her to find out who took the pictures. We can deal with this ourselves."

"Now wait just a minute here. If ye both would just calm down for one bloody second, I'm sure there's a way we can figure this out." Connor replied, looking down at the information.

"When was the last time ye had any word on Colin?" he asked, looking up at Branna.

She sat down. It'd been well over a year since she had any actual confirmation of where Colin Fitzpatrick had been doing his dirty work. He'd turned into a contract bomb maker. He went were there was work. It was how she'd ended up in Spain. He'd gone to make bombs for the E.T.A, the zealots of the Basque. She'd followed leads from Madrid to Barcelona, across the Spanish countryside and the edge of Portugal before giving up her search. The last she'd heard, he was long gone and no one knew where he was going next.

"Te be quite honest, it was a long time ago. He was running for Portugal. The Policía were on his trail after a set of timed bombs went off in Barcelona. I lost track of him after that. Couldn't pick up his trail again. That's how I ended up coming here. The man's like a ghost. Every time I got a whiff of where he might have been, by the time I got there, his operation had picked up and left." she explained.

Connor nodded. Murphy had taken to leaning against the empty countertop. He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"Alright then. Well, obviously he's turned up in Boston. We'll have to start from there." Connor said.

Branna went to object, but he cut her off.

"No buts about it lass. He has pictures of us. That won't do at all. Sorry to have to burst yer little bubble, but yer gonna have to put up with my arsehead of a brother at least until this is finished."

She sighed.

"Fine then, what d'ye s'pose we do about it?"

It was obvious they weren't going to let her do this alone. She might as well take whatever help they wanted to offer. There was no point in arguing with the MacManus brothers when they got an idea in their thick heads. She knew that for a fact.

_Branna was sitting on the front porch of the cottage. She was tired; it had been a particularly long day on the job. Donnelly had sent her out to the countryside to clean up after a rather important business meeting. She'd spent almost an hour getting all the blood out from under her nails. Leaning back against the rails she heard the crunch of gravel. She flicked her cigarette ashes into the bushes and swivelled around. When she saw him, she felt the smile creeping up her cheeck. _

_He was standing there, in the middle of her driveway, with his hands in his pockets. _

_"Well hello there." she said with a grin as she raised herself. Taking a drag, she stepped down off the porch while he made his way up to her. _

_"Hello." he said quietly with a smile. _

_Then he leaned down and kissed her. Her cigarette had fallen from her fingers as she'd wrapped her arms around him. Her hands played with his growing hair, it was nearly at his shoulders. He and his twin had decided to grow beards. She was constantly poking fun at them for it. His whiskers tickled her face. She giggled. _

_"Ye need to shave that thing off. I don't know if I like kissing meself a goat." She playfully pushed him back. He only laughed and kissed her again. _

_The last year had been one of the best in Branna's life. Being with Murphy MacManus had made it all seem easier. With him she could forget her job as the R.I.R.A lackey, she could forget about Colin Fitzpatrick. He was her island, her secret refuge. It almost felt as if time with him made time itself stand still. They didn't have to talk, it was bliss. _

_"I think I'll get the shears meself. Just gimme a second to find some…" she joked as they made their way back to the porch steps. _

_Taking a seat beside him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Leaning in she smelled the fresh country air and cut grass coming out of his woolen sweater. He kissed the top of her head gently._

_"So my shepherd love, what d'ye feel like? I was just about to make meself a meal." she asked looking up at him from his shoulder. _

_"Oh, I dunno, I was feelin' a bit like some more of this…" he growled as she pulled her down onto the wooden porch. "Aye, it's been too long since I've had a Branna sangwich." _

_She laughed as he mawled her. Nudging him with her knees, she managed to wiggle out from underneath him. _

_"I love ye Murphy MacManus. Ye have got to be the most wonderful thing about this island."She said as she brushed a lock of hair from his face. _

_They were laying now, arms and legs stretched out on the porch. They must've looked a sight to anyone passing on the road, two bodies, prostrate on the front porch of a rundown old cottage. _

_"I know, I've seen the other blokes. Ye were lucky." he quipped rolling onto his back. _

_She swatted him playfully, snuggling close to him so she could place her hand on his chest. He fumbled into his pocket for something. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of his breathing. She loved this, the fact that they could lay like teenagers, listen to the quiet sounds of the farmland around them. He shifted out from underneath her and sat up. She groaned with the displeasure of having to move. _

_Sitting up she rubbed her hands over her face. When she looked at him, he was a step down, kneeling on the ground. She cocked an eyebrow at him. _

_"What are ye doin' fool? Get up off yer knees, I'll go in and make us up something outta me fridge. I'm starvin'." _

_"Branna, I've been meanin' to get this off me chest for a while." His eyes were suddenly serious. "Since I met ye, the day ye almost took off me face with yer fist there, I knew that there was somethin' about ye I had to have. Then, when ye were mine, I thought things couldn't get any better because I finally had someone who understood the parts of me that I thought only me flesh and blood would understand…" _

_"Murphy, what are ye goin' on about?" Branna asked with suspicion. _

_He sat back and didn't answer. After a few moments, he slid something onto her left hand. She gasped. On her ring finger was a golden claddagh. A green emerald heart was fixed in the center, with the hands caressing it and the crown. The point of the heart faced inwards, pointing up her arm to where the blood pumped straight to her heart. She had no words. _

_"I want to spend the rest of me life with ye." he finally said. She went to open her mouth but he shushed her."Now don't go and start the whole, it's too soon business because I know ye. I know ye think I can't understand yer business with the folk I seen ye running around for. I want ye to know that I don't care. I've seen me fair share of things in this life, and I know that if there is anyone here on this whole earth who could accept me no conditions, its you." _

No matter what Branna could have said, she knew she wouldn't have been able to change his mind. Marriage, a life with him, she wanted nothing more. Her biggest fear back then had been her involvement with the R.I.R.A. Not many of them were married, and if they were, they were married to the evil they spread. She'd wanted to say no, that she wasn't ready. But when she'd looked into his eyes, his brilliantly blue eyes, she couldn't. They'd spent the evening in bed, followed by the next, and the next. Then he'd come to her home the night she'd killed the Army's assassin.

"Branna? Earth to Branna?" Connors voice jerked her back into the conversation.

"What?" she answered sharply.

She caught her right hand caressing the spot where the ring had once sat. She quickly spread her hands out on the table in front of her. She looked out of the corner of her eye to see Murphy watching her. His gaze intense.

"Well, if we're gonna try and find out who sent this to ye, we're gonna have to go for a bit of a jog," Connor answered. "And fer that, yer gonna need some shoes."


	6. Doctor's Orders

**Chapter Six: Doctors Orders **

After a small argument over whether or not Branna would fit into a pair of their spare boots, Branna had demanded to be taken home. Murphy scowled at the decision, citing that it wasn't safe to go back there. But after she had reluctantly tried on the boots, and found that they were two sizes too big, he and Connor had grabbed their coats.

At the apartment, he watched at Branna went around methodically collecting her things. She grabbed her cigarettes, and slid her Browning into the holster before wriggling her arms into it. She'd stalked over to exposed sink and grabbed an elastic before knotting her hair up. Everything was going smoothly until he saw her slip into a pair of flat-soled leather boots that stopped midway up her calf.

"What, ye think we're goin' dancin'?" he mocked, gesturing at her footwear.

She'd stood up from pulling the boot up. With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, she'd unzipped the leg part and showed him the inside of the leather on the outer part of her leg. There was a built in sheath where the handle of a short blade peeked out. His raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know when I'm coming back here. I want all the weapons I can carry." was all she said.

She'd returned to pulling up her boots and continued to walk around her apartment. Kneeling, she pulled out a small red duffle bag. Tossing it on the table, she moved over to where her bed was cornered up across from the shower curtain. Lifting the covers, she reached under the bed, searching with her hands. She smiled. She'd obviously found what she was looking for, pulling out a fair sized green lock box. Reaching into her night table she produced a key and brought both the key and the box to the table as well. Opening the box she proceeded to pull out another handgun, this one a Firestar compact 9mm and a few more small knives. She'd tossed them all into the bad and zipped it up before pulling her on her leather coat.

Now, sitting at the bar, she was having a lovely conversation with Doc. The old man was smiling and pouring her a drink. He watched Connor walked out of the restroom and head his way. Taking a swig of the pint Doc had served him, he lit a cigarette. Connor sidled up beside him, putting a nice sized buffer between him and the woman who was turning out to be a test of his will.

"So," Connor said, taking a mouthful of his own draught.

"So what?" he replied.

"Are ye gonna tell me what happened at Branna's apartment? What got the two of ye's so hot and bothered ye started a screaming match over it in the kitchen?" Lighting his own cigarette he exhaled a circle of smoke.

"It was nothin'," Murphy muttered. "Absolutely nothing."

"Oh come now. I know ye better than that. Ye can't hide shit like that from me, I'll find out one way or another. I mean, I could get Branna's side of the story. Sure she'd be more than willing to part with that tasty bit of information…" Connor chuckled.

Murphy looked at Branna; she was smoking and laughing at Doc trying to explain the difference between a light beer and a smooth beer. He turned.

"It was fucking… I don't know what the fuck it was. One minute we're screaming at each other, the next minute, its like we can't get our clothes off fast enough. Thankfully, before anythin' happened, those pictures showed up." He sighed.

"I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me head. I look at her, and it's like nothing's changed! It's like all those years after she left don't exist anymore. I mean, what the fuck? She left me! She took off on her own, no word, no goodbye, just up and left. Christ, I'm in me mid-thirties and fer the last ten years I haven't been able to get me head unwrapped from that bloody woman. I dunno what the hell is wrong with me Connor."

He ran a hand through his hair and put out the smoke in the ashtray on the bar.

"Brother, this all I have to say on the matter - don't be a dumbass." His brother clapped him on the back and waved Doc to bring another round. The old man toddled over to refill their glasses.

"Th-Th-That girl ye brought with ye be something special." Doc said with a wide smile.

"Aye, something… not sure what just yet." Murphy muttered.

"Don't b-b-be a fool now boy. I c-c-could tell the first time she glanced over to ye th-th-that ye both have unf-f-f- FUCK!" Doc cursed. "Business ye need to take care of."

He watched Doc point a shaky finger in Branna's direction. She was laughing and high fiving one of Doc's other bartenders. He watched her push her bangs back off her face and shake her head at some unheard joke.

"Ye don't even know the half of it Doc." He said sardonically. The elderly man just smiled and nodded in the direction Murphy was looking.

"Go on boy, go talk to her."

Murphy nodded. It was about time. They'd got no leads when they'd arrived here. Doc hadn't seen anyone matching the description Branna provided and he hadn't overheard any conversations in regards to any suspicious. They were simply enjoying a brew now, hoping that maybe, if they were lucky, something would turn up. He stood up to go over to her when she stood herself, stretched, and headed towards the door. Shrugging to Connor, he followed.

* * * *

Outside, Branna was leaning against the wall smoking. Her head leaned against the building with her eyes closed. Her one leg was propped up behind her. The night air felt good against her skin. The smoky bar was beginning to go to her head. At least, that was the excuse she was making up for herself. Her conversation with the little old man named Doc made her lightheaded. He was a lovely wee man. However lovely, something told Branna that his jolly good nature was simply a disguise for his true goal – reading people's minds. Everything he'd said to her had made perfect sense, and she hadn't even offered up the information.

She heard the door open and the sound of footsteps coming towards her. She knew it was Murphy. She'd seen him stand up and follow her out. Opening her eyes, she rolled her head to the side so she could see him. He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets.

"Hey," she said with a half grin.

"Hey back." He replied.

His blue eyes were stormy. She knew he wanted to discuss what happened upstairs in her apartment earlier that day. Hell, she wanted to discuss it too. Ever since he'd been back in her scope of reality, it was like she couldn't breathe around him. She knew he was still angry about the past. How could he not be?

She knew that leaving hadn't been the right answer. As she'd flown over Ireland to London, she'd wanted to scream at an airhostess to let her off the plane. Had someone given her a parachute she'd have dropped down from the sky. But it had been too late. She'd made her decision. She'd tried to justify it by telling herself that he was better off, that he would be just as happy with someone else. She knew now, looking at the inner turmoil written on his face that it was impossible to try and justify what she'd done. It had been cruel. She had cut him deep, and most importantly she was at a loss of how to make up for it.

"Branna-" Murphy started. She cut him off.

"Murphy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left ye. I'm sorry I didn't tell ye sooner about what I was into. I wish… I wish I could just go back, be honest from the get go. God, I am such a gobshite! I made a total bags of everything."

"Branna!" he tried to interject.

"No. Ye need to hear what I have to say. Ye came for answers today, somehow ye got dragged into me mess and I have some things I have to tell ye. Things I should have told ye a long time ago." She interrupted.

"When I first met ye, ye were like this angel from God. Ye didn't ask me questions, ye didn't pester me fer answers. Ye just accepted me. I never expected to fall fer ye, and when I did? It was the most glorious thing I'd ever experienced. It was like Heaven had fallen from the sky and landed in me lap! That night-"

Her hands were shaking. She was facing him now. Her eyes burned. She could feel the water welling in her eyes. She hated crying. She didn't want to cry. The memory of the night he found her was burned into her memory. Focusing on that, she swallowed and closed the floodgates. She crossed her arms, hugging them tight to her chest with the hope she could still the tremors. Her shoulder ached from the tension. She used the pain.

"The night ye found me. The things ye said to me, they hurt. Not as much as I surely hurt ye with me foolish actions, but it killed me to see ye so upset. It felt like a piece of me died! The look in yer eyes, that look-"

* * * *

Murphy stood silent. He'd tried to get a word in but she was on a roll. He watched her struggle to get the words out. She'd never been too good on that front. He'd never minded, she was his opposite. He could see her holding back. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. The thought that she would cry pained him. He took a step forward.

"The look in yer eyes, that look-"

Brushing her bangs out of her face he leaned down and kissed her, gently this time. His hands on her shoulders, he pulled her into him. He could feel her reluctance fading as she gradually fell into his embrace. Her arms slid up the sides of his shirt. The feeling made him sigh against her. Sliding his hands down to rest on her hips, he kissed her deeper. Hugging her body against him, he felt her press herself into him.

She felt so soft. Her arms running up and down his back made him shiver. One hand came up and caressed his cheek, her palm warm against his skin.

"Murphy-" she said between kisses.

"Don't say a damned word Branna Ferguson." He chided as he turned her and backed them up against the wall.

His kisses trailed down her neck. His hand moved to grip the back of head while the other slid around and pressed her hips into him. She gasped into his shoulder. He kissed her face as he slid the shoulder of her jacket back, exposing the thin fabric of her shirt. He laid kisses on her collarbone, her neck, the crook of skin between her chin and her ear. Her hands moved over his shoulders and his hips pulling him taut against her. He had her tight against the wall. Her knee slid between his legs, rubbing against his thigh. He shuddered.

"Well then," Connor's voice broke the moment. "Now I see why she called it 'manhandlin'."

Jumping back startled by the abrupt noise, he spun to where he'd heard the familiar accent. To his right he saw his brother was leaning casually by the door with a cocky grin on his face. Branna rubbed a hand across her mouth as she adjusted her jacket. Her cheeks flushed.

"Shut yer gob." He shot him a glare.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the walls fly up on Branna's face. For that one small second, they'd been down; she'd given herself completely over in that one small moment. But the moment was over, and now he had his brother grinning like an eejit on Saint Paddy's day making faces at him.

"Oh, it be shut. Not another word. Fuck, we might find we have an easier time of things if ye handled all our business that way." Connor smirked.

"On a more serious note, we gots to go. I overheard a fella inside telling his buddy that he'd hired the best hacker in South Boston to crack a code for him so he could spy on his little girly friend. I figure it could be a way for us to get a little more information on Colin. Havin' someone check a few databases for us, wouldn't hurt." He added.

"Here, I brought ye yer coat, but after watching the tail end of that little show, I'm not sure ye need it anymore." Connor laughed, dangling the jacket out a few feet from reach.

"Oh fuck off." Murphy replied reaching for his coat.

His brother laughed again and tugged it out of reach. He stepped forward and snatched it away. Shrugging on his coat, he turned back to Branna. His brother had already forged on own the street.

"Branna, I-" he offered with an apologetic look. She gave him a small smile, waved him off and started after Connor.

"We'll talk about it later. Right now we need to catch up to ye brother."

* * * *

"So ye got a name for this hacker?" Branna asked as she caught up to Connor.

"Well, not exactly. I heard the man say that the kid refused to use his real name, just his online one." Connor admitted.

"Come again? Ye mean we got to go looking for some username in a system?" She heard Murphy call out from behind them. "We're on a fucking goose chase!"

"Well, when ye put it that way." Connor snapped.

Murphy came up on Branna's other side. He stepped in front of Connor.

"Don't tell me. It's another one of ye grand ideas from the movies isn't it! Fer fucks sake. Could ye for once come up with a plan that didn't already exist?"

"Ye know what? Those movies have plenty of good ideas in them! Don't start with yer negative attitude on me. I know what I'm doing. Ye just need to let me work out the details!" Connor shouted.

"Where are we goin' then? 'Oh brains of the operation'." Murphy scoffed.

"To an Internet café. Those kids are always doing their work out of those things." Connor defended.

"An Internet café eh? And what d'ye s'pose we do once we get there? Go around tappin' people on the shoulder sayin' 'scuse me, we're looking for imastupiddumbass00001, could ye point me in the right direction'?"

Branna watched the two of them. At Murphy's last remark, Connor stiffened. Quick as a flash he shoved his brother with both hands. Murphy stumbled back. His eyes grew wide and with force shoved him back. Within seconds the two were scrapping in the middle of the street. Connor threw a fist, Murphy kicked out with a leg. It was a blur to Branna as the men went at it.

"OI! Cut it! Ye be acting like children. Connor! Murphy!" she shouted at them.

Her cries went unheard as the men shouted curses and swung their arms at each other. Seeing the only opening she was going to get, she took a chance. Reaching in with both hands, she grasped each of them firmly by the ear and pulled. Their hollers were excruciatingly loud.

"Ye wanna act like a couple of testosterone filled teenagers than do it another time. Right now, we have somewhere to be!" she bellowed.

The boys, because their actions deemed no more than that, were finally silenced. Each ripped himself from her grasp almost as soon as she'd pulled them apart. They looked at her like sullen children who'd been scolded for having one to servings of dessert.

"Ye, stop acting like an arrogant fool. This may be the only thing we have that could help us find Colin." She pointed at Murphy. He scowled back.

Connor puffed out his chest. She turned on him,

"AND YE!" She pointed. "Not everythin' ye see in the pictures is gonna work out just like it did on the screen. Right now, it's the only thing we got. Ye got us on this wild goose chase, ye can be the one to go around tappin' folks on their shoulders to find us this mystery hacker person."

_**A/N: To everyone who is going, "Mid-thirties?" I'll explain the timeline for you all so you can understand where Branna and the boys are age wise. When Branna met Murphy, she was 23 years old and the boys had been in Ireland for just over a year. Going by the time the movies were released (and a bit into the future) as well as how old they appear to look in the first movie, it goes as follows:**_

_**2000 – The Boys move to Ireland (24ish)**_

**2001 – Murphy (25) meets Branna (23)**

_**2002 – Branna (24) leaves Murphy (26) **_

_**2010 – The Boys return to Boston (34)**_

_**2011 – Branna (33) runs into Murphy (35) and main story begins **_

_**Thank you everyone who is reading this, I'll have more soon. Don't forget R&R **_


	7. Leave it to Connor

**Chapter 7: Leave it to Connor**

The trio walked along the streets; Branna and Murphy , following Connor blindly as he turned left, then right and then left again. What were they doing? Christ, Murphy felt like they were going in circles. After they'd passed the same hotdog stand for the fourth time, he had to say something.

"D'ye even know where we're goin'?"

Connor shot him a glare.

"Alls he said was that it was an internet café on Hill Street. That was where he met Ghost every time he did work with him."

Murphy clenched his jaw. Leave it to Connor to leave before any real information presented itself. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to restrain himself.

"Fan-fucking-tastic! A place. On Hill Street. Ye know that Hill Street is like… 5 miles long eh?"

Sensing that Murphy's words could turn into another brawl, Branna stepped in, pointing across the street. There was a small coffee shop that advertised computer use and free Internet.

"Look, that looks like a place we can start."

She started across the street, not giving the men a chance to object. Stepping up the curb, she hopped onto the front steps of the storefront and pulled open the door. Before she entered, she looked back. Both brothers were standing like they weren't sure how to approach the situation.

"What? Scared of the pale-faced techies?" She asked. Neither of them moved. With a sigh she stepped inside. "Lets go."

As they entered the dimly lit shop, she saw that their work would be a lot more difficult than they'd anticipated. There were tables with computers everywhere. Each one had some poor fella or lass glued to their seat, eyes focusing on the flickering screens in front of them. There was a small bar style counter that jut out from the far side. A coffee bar sat next to it with a seemingly unpleasant young man reading a book while minding the till. This was not going to go well. She could sense it.

Her time with the R.I.R.A had given her a good sense of judgment when it came to conversations regarding information. There were ways to try and _talk_ someone into giving it to you, and ways to _make_ them give it to you. She felt like this situation would probably end with the latter. With a sigh, she strode across the hardwood floor and cleared her throat.

"We're looking for someone." She said, leaning on the counter.

The young man looked up from his book and lifted and eyebrow.

"And what makes you think you'll find them here?" he said, gesturing to the rows upon rows of customers.

"A fairly reliable source." Branna replied.

The young man looked unfazed. Cocking the eyebrow again, he leaned across the table.

"Alright. I'm the usual night manager, got a name for this person?"

Branna looked over her shoulder at Connor and glared. This was supposed to be his job but the idiot was standing behind her looking around casually, pretending that he couldn't hear her.

"All I have a username. He's called The Ghost." She said simply with her palms spread out open. The boys' head dropped forward in doubt.

"Don't look at me like that." Branna scowled. " I need to find this guy, and fast. Either ye tell me if ye know anyone in here who goes by that, or they," She flicked her head back to the brothers. "Will make yer life a living hell."

Catching her intentions, they stepped up to the counter.

"Look lady, we get hundreds of people in here a day. What makes you think I'd even know this Ghost person?" the boy said dryly.

Branna stiffened. He was getting cocky. This wouldn't do.

"Just answer me question," she looked down at his nametag, "Michael. Trust me when I say that you do not want this to get ugly." She emphasized her point by casually adjusting her coat so that the Browning was visible. She watched his eyes widen in shock briefly before he reclaimed composure. He backed up a step.

"Look! Like I said, we get tons of people in here everyday. We don't see what their usernames are. I don't have a clue!" his attitude came down.

Branna covered her holster and straightened up. This was going nowhere. It was ridiculous to have come here in the first place. Leave it to Connor to get them on a blind chase.

"Well then. Thanks. Sorry to have troubled ye." She muttered as she turned on her heel and walked out, Murphy and Connor in tow.

* * * *

After another hour of walking Hill Street for Internet cafés, the general consensus was that nothing was going to come of the "lead" Connor had found. Branna had finally given up being the lead investigator and their search had come to screeching halt.

Now, the trio were approaching Branna's flat. They were all starving and Branna refused to go back to the MacManus abode without first bringing reserves. Connor had scoffed saying that they didn't need anything but when Branna asked if they had milk for tea, his face screwed up in confusion. Murphy had smirked. He couldn't get over how domesticated she'd become. When he'd known her, she rarely cooked if ever, and tea was something she picked up in a shop on her way to a work. He could count on one hand the meals she'd made, and they weren't exactly something you'd find in a regular restaurant. Now, she'd been adamant that they stop at her flat so she could retrieve teabags, milk and sugar because she couldn't go without.

As they walked, Branna led the way, idly chatting to Connor about what else they could do to find Fitzpatrick. He watched her confident steps; her hair had since slipped out of the tight knot she'd done it up in and was hanging loosely near her neck with most of the tendrils still strung up in the elastic. Her hands were making gestures, as she got more frustrated with each one of Connor's hair brained ideas.

His mind wandered back to the second kiss they'd shared since the start of the day. He remembered seeing the pain fill Branna's face as she apologized for what she'd done. Her lips against his, her hands roaming his body and his hers, and when her knee had grazed his thigh, well he thought he might die right where he stood. It was almost electric,; the pull he felt when he looked at her, like a magnet. He didn't know if he wanted to feel that way still. The sharp ache of her actions still sat heavy in his heart, regardless of the apologies. Did he still love her? Or was this attraction spurred on by the leftover tension between them? He didn't know.

Rubbing his neck, he saw that the door to her building was only a few feet more. Soon, once they'd retrieved Branna's precious supplies, they could return to his and Connor's apartment and they could all get some well-needed rest. How Murphy planned to sleep with Branna in the next room was a mystery to him, but he prayed that the Lord would work his magic.

* * * *

Back at Connor and Murphy's apartment, Branna felt a heaving sense of relief. Their chase had led them nowhere, and after hours of walking the downtown of South Boston, all her legs wanted to do was stop moving. As she boiled water in a pot on the stove, because she'd found that the boys didn't think much of cookware these days, she watched Murphy out of the corner of her eye.

He had kissed her. Again. This time with softness that made her chest throb. It hadn't been the passionate coupling they'd shared earlier, which Branna was secretly attributing both their tempers to. This kiss, it had been, well just like it always had been, tender and loving with what she could only describe as simple Murphy.

He was leaning back on the couch in the living area, his feet propped up on the coffee table next to a can of beer and his head leaned back on the cushions. His eyes were closed. She could hear Connor running the water for the shower in the next room; he'd always been a bit of a priss. Grabbing three plastic cups from the open shelf, she placed the tea bags and put what she deemed an appropriate amount of sugar in each one. The water was rolling to a boil. She turned off the burner and carefully poured the steaming hot liquid into each cup.

Once the tea was finished, she carried hers and the one she'd made for Murphy over to him.

"Here, drink this… ye should have something non-alcoholic. Ye'll sleep better. I can promise ye that." She said quietly, setting the cup down beside the open can of beer.

Murphy opened one eye in a squint as she spoke. He grunted slightly and leaned forward picking up the cup. She watched him flinch slightly when the heat of the tea in the plastic cup touched his hand, but he never complained. Instead, he took a small sip and looked up at her.

"Ye happy now?"

"About what?" she replied curiously, curling her legs underneath her as she sat down on the end of the couch opposite the Irishman. Leaning forward, Murphy cradled the cup between his palms resting his elbows on his knees.

"Are ye happy. Just what the word means. Happy. Back when-" she watched him struggle with the words.

"When we were together, ye seemed content enough, but sometimes, I felt like there was always something holdin' ye back. I knew ye had yer issues, ye had yer secrets and I was ok with 'em. Feck, I've more of me own to worry about these days. I was only wonderin' if the time ye spent out there in the world, the time ye had after me, made ye happy." He swirled the cup and chugged down the last of the tea. Plucking a cigarette out of the open pack on the table, he stood up and walked out of the room. Branna could only watch in confusion.

* * * *

Opening the door to the bathroom, Connor knew the coast would be clear. He'd overheard Murphy's question and Branna's obvious lack of an answer. He listened to the sound of Murphy's quiet breathing in the room to the right. The bathroom connected to the small bedroom. An ensuite, the ad in the paper had said. Ensuite his arse, Connor scoffed, the bathroom was more like a teeny cupboard, a drain in the floor let the water from the shower drain out, and the shower itself was simply a shower head attached to the wall. European, the ad said. Connor listened closely for the sound of movement in the shared bedroom. Once he was positive it was only Murphy he heard, he ventured out into the living room.

Branna was leaning back on the sofa, her eyes closed as she dragged on a cigarette. Blue clouds were circling her head. He leaned down and picked up a smoke for himself, lighting it as he sat in the chair opposite the couch. She opened her eyes and levelled him with a gaze.

"'Lo there." Connor said. She muttered a reply as she yawned, leaning back to close her eyes once more.

He could see the effects of the last couple of days in her face. Her eyes were darker, more tired. He watched her subtly stretch her shoulder. He'd wondered how that was coming along. She didn't seem to favour it, or try and protect it. She just continued with normal life. That had always been one of the qualities he'd assumed drew Murphy to her. She pressed on, didn't matter the circumstance. She went with it. He had a feeling it had also been her temper. She always had been a hot head, more so than Murphy at times. Her eyes also seemed to have the same 'Don't test me' look to them.

It had pained him to learn she'd been involved with the Republic. In the time he'd come to know her, Connor had begun to see her as a little sister. She'd smile at his brother, and the light would come to life in Murphy. Connor had been so glad that finally, his brother could have some peace. When he learned of her role with the R.I.R.A, after she'd already up and gone, he wanted so bad to be angry with her. To scold her and tell her that she was being an idiot. He wanted to, as much as he could, protect her. She'd become family; he knew Murphy had given her Gram's ring. She might as well have been blood. When he learned of what she'd done, of what Murphy had seen, he wasn't angry. He was terrified.

_He could hear Murphy quietly sobbing in the next room. He'd come home the week before bloodied and spitting piss and vinegar. He hadn't said a word as Murphy had stormed into the cottage, threw his boots into the corner and stalked into his room. He hadn't said a word when Murphy mentioned casually that Branna was gone a few days later. But to hear his twin silently grieving over the woman, now he had something to say about it._

_He knocked on the door to Murph's room. He heard a cough, and the door opened. His brother looked like hell. His eyes were red, his face flush and his whole body seemed sprung tighter than a cog in a clock. Without so much as a greeting, Murphy turned back into the room, choosing to crawl back under the covers._

_"Ye can't stay in here ye know." Connor said gently._

_"Oh fuck off, I'm just not feelin' well. I might have the grippe or somethin'. Just leave me be, I'll be fine." Murphy said, coughing to emphasize a point. He reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a smoke, lighting it as he rolled over to look him in the face. Connor was getting tired of this._

_"No. Ye ain't got a cold, or even a touch of the sniffles. Ye be actin' like a woman; cryin' in her bed, eating her ice cream and wailing at God for the injustice done to her by some man."_

_"I'm not feeling well!" Murphy raised his voice._

_"AYE, cause ye had yer heart broken. I'm sorry Murphy, I am. Ye know she was as good as a sister to me as well. Yer allowed to be sad, but for chrissakes, don't lay around in bed all day. What good will it do? Nothing." Connor said adamantly._

_Murphy's face hardened. He pushed back the duvet covers, flicking his cigarette out the open window, and pushed his way past him out the bedroom door. He didn't come back for almost three weeks._

"I know that ye never meant to cause me brother harm lass." Connor said quietly.

Branna's head snapped forward. Her eyes were once again, levelled at him.

"Now, now. Don't be gettin' fussy on me. I'm trying to say that I'm not mad at ye. I can understand why ye left. I don't think it was right, not one second of it, but I understand. Ye were like a sister to me Branna. Ye have no idea how worried Da and I were when we saw Murphy come home covered in blood. He wouldn't talk to us fer days. He disappeared for weeks!" he lectured.

"Ye plan on tellin' me anything that I didn't know?" Branna said flippantly. "I don't have the energy to talk anymore Connor. I know ye mean well, but right now, I just want to find Colin and kill the bastard. I don't have the mental capacity to think about anything past that." She leaned forward to ash the cigarette. He mirrored her gesture.

"With what I've witnessed in the last 48 hours? Ye may not have the energy but I want ye to know that as much as I care about ye, if ye ever do something as stupid as ye did back then, the next time ye'll have not only Murphys gun, but mine staring back at ye. Blood comes first."

He stood and retrieved a pillow and light blanket from the far corner. Tossing them on the couch, he nodded to them. He looked at her quickly; she was stiff as a board. Her eyes had taken on a wary edge. She reached for the blanket and lay down. Connor turned his back and headed into the single bedroom.

Murphy was lying awake on the single mattress closest to the window.

"I s'pose ye heard me out there?" Connor said nonchalantly.

Murphy just nodded, a weak smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"I love ye brother," he said, rolling over on his side.

Connor smiled as he turned out the light and settled in for the night.


	8. La Raza

**Chapter 8: La Raza**

The next morning, Murphy rolled over and stretched. Sitting up, he dragged himself out of bed, popping a cigarette between his lips. Looking out the window he saw the early morning light starting to eclipse the buildings, flooding the city in sun. Turning, he saw Connor, sprawled out on the mattress beside his with the covers askew snoring lightly. With a chuckle, he quietly moved to the door, taking care not to make too much noise.

He wandered out into the living room and saw Branna curled into a tiny ball on the couch. Her face half buried in the blanket, all he could really see was the loose knot of hair poking out of the top. He wanted to laugh, really, but he didn't know if his heart could take the jovial nature of what he was looking at. Shaking his head, he grabbed the lighter off the table and went to the stovetop. He filled the pot from last night with water and set it to boil. As much as he knew he didn't want to deal with Branna or whatever it was that was going on between them, he knew that it wouldn't do well for either him or Connor if Branna didn't have a coffee first thing in the morning.

Leaning on the counter, he inhaled the nicotine. She hadn't answered him. She just looked at him, confusion on her face. He didn't know how to say what he'd wanted to say. Was she happy now? Happier than she had been before? Was it a normal life she wanted? Could he trust what she said? He didn't know, and it hurt his head to think about it. The water was boiling; he turned to the stove and flicked the burner off.

"Top o' the mornin' to ye." He heard Branna say from behind him.

He turned, holding the pot in one hand, cigarette in the other. She stood there wrapped in the green blanket. Her eyes were bleary and her face looked ruddy, but she looked normal. She looked like the real Branna.

"Ye fancy yerself a leprechaun now d'ye?" he joked lightly; pulling down the mugs that Branna had failed to find the night before. He heard her groan as he filled him up with the hot water. Stirring in the instant coffee he handed her the black mug.

"Would have been nice if ye'd shown me where the blasted mugs were last night Murphy." She sulked, sitting down at the table.

"Maybe, but then I wouldn't have gotten to laugh at ye slammin' me cupboards around." He quipped. She sighed, sipped her coffee and lit a cigarette.

He heard Connor grunting as he shuffled his way into the living room. Murphy stirred the instant coffee and sugar into Connors coffee and sat it on the table. His brother sank down into the kitchen chair, yawning as he took the coffee and gulped it down. Connors looked over at bleary-eyed Branna and then back to Murphy.

"I gots an idea." He said.

Murphy looked over at his brother and groaned. Branna cleared her throat.

"After yer grand idea last night, ye think we should be letting ye make the plans here?" she asked, a hint of a smile on her face.

Connor scowled.

"It's a good fucking plan. What's the problem with both of ye? Negative energy the both of ye. Ye have to BELIEVE in the idea. Force it into reality!"

Murphy laughed at the defiance on his brother's face.

"Aye, the way ye were making it a reality while Branna did all the interrogatin' last night?"

Connor winced. Branna looked over at him and Murphy relented.

"Fine then. Tell us, what is yer next plan of attack?"

Connor smiled, leaning forward with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"I say we find our Mexican."

* * * *

Connor stared at Murphy. The shock on his face was evident. He knew as much as Connor did that Romeo had needed some serious rest and relaxation after their escape from the Hoag, but if there was someone who could find anyone – they could bet that Romeo would find them first.

_Sitting in the prison yard, Murphy and Connor looked out at their fellow inmates. They'd been in the Hoag for almost two months. After their first day out of the infirmary, no one really bothered them. It might have had something to do with the fact that Murphy had broken a couple of wrists and Connor had busted the collarbone of one of the few inmates who tried to grab them through the bars. They were still the Saints. They had to watch for any one who could be a threat. So far, their reputation preceded them and they'd had little trouble. _

_Glancing up at the top window, Connor thought of Romeo. He was still in the infirmary, no longer on life support, but unable to breathe without a machine or walk due to a crushed vertebrae from a gunshot wound. He cursed silently that their friend had been injured so seriously. It had almost been Rocco all over again. Thank the lord, Romeo was still alive, but would he walk again? That was the question. _

_Looking over at Murphy, he saw his twin scouting the perimeter of the recreation yard they'd been put in. Connor sighed; it was a hot day. He pulled his standard issue shirt up over his head and tucked the flimsy fabric into the pocket of his standard issue pants. Stretching his arms, he nudged his brother. He needed to know what he thought of the situation._

"_Que pense tu de la situation?" He asked, using French to somewhat disguise their conversation._

"_Beh, __é__videment, on doit l'__échappée__." His brother responded. _

_Connor knew that was the only way. They'd have to escape, break out. There was only one way to do that. The guards in the Hoag were surreptitious about their change times. Their only shot was Romeo. Word had spread about the Mexican still on bed rest. He was supposed to be transported to a local hospital for some MRI's and CAT scans in the next couple of days. If they could somehow manage to get out with Romeo, they could get back to Boston. _

"_É__coute, on ferai comme __ce ci…" he began the planning. _

"Romeo, are ye mad?" Murphy questioned.

"The poor fella been hiding out at his uncles healing from the last time we dragged his ass into the shit storm. We can't. He suffered enough when we got him out of the Hoag. Can ye imagine being carried with a broken back? We're lucky we didna do him any more damage!"

Connor nodded in agreement.

"I know, but he's the best lead we got on whats going down on that side of town. He could know something."

He watched his brother stop to ponder this. The reluctance faded and he could see his twin resign himself to the fate.

Over the next couple of days, the boys had schmoozed with the infirmary nurses whenever they got the chance. One pretty little thing in particular was quite fond of Murph, so when he asked if he could visit his dear friend Romeo she'd quite happily agreed and arranged the paperwork for a visit.

_In the room, Murphy had had only one job. Disconnect the monitors that helped Rom breathe. Rom would be able to breathe shallow breaths until the machines went off. Connor waited in his cell, separate from his brother across the hall. They were only one floor down from the infirmary. They were in "maximum" security. Single cells, an almost unpopulated floor. One guard. Connor wanted to laugh. This was maximum security? Fuck. _

_He heard a commotion coming down the stairs. Jumping up, he moved quickly to the bars. _

"_MURPH!" he called. _

_A gun went off. Murphy came round the corner with Romeo in a firemans carry and pointing an AK-47 at the guard. With a bloody hand, the guard fumbled through a set of keys. _

"_Open the door!" Murphy hollered. _

"_Why isn't the alarm going off?" Connor asked quickly. _

"_Because I killed the fucker who was going to push it. GET IT OPEN NOW!" he screamed at the guard. "This one was the only one left upstairs. He was on break from our floor. Lucky for us." _

_The guard's hands shook as he opened the cell door. Connor slipped through the opening and grabbed the guard by the collar. _

"_Now ye listen here. Yer gonna get us the fuck out of here. All three of us. Right fucking now. Ye hear me?" the guard nodded. "Or I'll have me brother here blast yer fucking head off faster than you can say Charlie Branson." _

The guard had led them down a backset of stairs, and after little persuasion, handed Connor his personal vehicle keys. After they had loaded Romeo into the back of the car, Murphy turned around and pistol-whipped the guard, letting the body drop like a sack of potatoes. They'd driven out the gates no questions asked surprisingly. Limo tint worked better than it apparently looked. After a few miles, they'd ditched the guards' car at a truck stop and called Romeo's uncle Cesar. For a few months, they'd hidden in the basement of the Silver Peso.

While Romeo was getting well, the boys had gone on to find suitable living and somewhere they could lay low. The last time Connor had seen Romeo; he'd been in a wheelchair.

* * * *

After much convincing on Connor's part, Murphy finally relented and agreed to go see Romeo. Branna didn't quite understand why it was such a big deal until Murphy explained the situation to her.

"Ye see, Romeo was with us the day that we lost–" She watched him struggle with the words Da. She'd heard about that day. That was the day the infamous Saints of South Boston were captured by the feds. That had been the day she'd learned that Murphy MacManus was in Boston.

"There'd been a shoot out. We'd been looking for the ones responsible for the death of a priest. We ended up at this old mans house, he'd tried to ambush us, in the crossfire, we were all shot up. Romeo took the worst brunt of it though. He was on life support for almost ever in the Hoag. Last time we even seen him he was in a wheelchair. The man can't even walk."

She nodded her understanding. Murphys reluctance to find Romeo wasn't to do with Romeo himself. He didn't want to trouble someone who'd lost so much to help them. She could understand the sentiment. Funny how he felt the same way about Romeo, as she did about having to leave him behind.

It had been a very long and silent walk. Connor led the way, Murphy trailed behind, Branna meandering somewhere in between. Ashing her lit cigarette on the concrete, she slowed her pace to match the sulking man behind her.

"Murphy, ye know it wasn't yer fault right?" She asked quietly as they walked down the street towards the Silver Peso.

He didn't answer her. She knew he blamed himself. He had always blamed himself for everything. She could never get it through his head that people make their own decisions, that it had nothing to do with him. It was part of the reason she'd fought so hard to find Fitzpatrick on her own.

She could not be responsible for someone she loved being hurt for something she did of her own accord. She didn't want Murphy to know about her involvement with the R.I.R.A because she knew he'd want to help her. He wouldn't have wanted her to do it on her own. She couldn't let him make the decision to stand with her because she knew that she wouldn't be able to stop feeling guilty should anything ever happen to him. She suffered the same guilty patterns he did; she understood the agony of the what-if.

Deciding that now was not the time to try and force the idea into his head, she tossed her cigarette to the gutter and caught up to Connor. He was opening the door. She caught the handle as the door swung towards her. Jogging in, she took a seat at the bar beside him. Murphy followed suit and sat down on Connors other side.

There was an older man serving drinks and as he came towards the brothers, his face went from a smile to a frown.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked abruptly.

"Hello Cesar, we came to see Romeo." Connor said with a shrug.

"Romeo is not ready for visitors yet –" the old man started to say when from the steel kitchen doors at the end of the galley style bar swung open.

"That better be my mother fucking leprechauns!"

Branna saw a dark headed man holding a cane hobbling down the bar. His eyes were wild. He was a thin man, approximately the same height as her standing up. When he arrived at the boys, he smiled a wide smile.

"It's about fucking time you two queers came to see me!" He leaned forward with his arm outstretched.

Connor and Murphy both smiled and in turn clasped the mans arm.

"Look at ye! Up on yer feet I see!" Connor smiled widely.

"You bet your sweet ass I am! Where the fuck have you two been? I've been sitting around on my ass here waiting for you two to come and get me! You need La Raza spirit ese."

"We were laying low. We only just opened up shop again." Connor replied with a laugh.

"No thanks to someone." Murphy muttered not-so-quietly under his breath.

Branna stiffened. What had crawled into his pants this morning? She knew he was upset by her lack of response to his oddly phrased question last night, but he was running hot and cold. One minute he couldn't keep his hands to himself, the next he's cursing her under his breath.

"I didna come looking for ye Murphy MacManus! Don't ye try and say this was all my doing. Ye were the one who wouldn't let well enough alone. I don't need ye to hold me hand on this! Ye should know better!" she said curtly.

"Well maybe if someone didn't have to go off chasing the most dangerous man known in Ireland we wouldn't be in this predicament." He countered offhandedly.

Connor pressed a hand to her shoulder to keep her in her seat. Before she could retort the curdling Irishman beside his twin, the dark haired man snapped his head towards her.

"Who the fuck is she?" he asked with a bewildered look on his face.

"My name is Branna Ferguson." She said, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of Murphy's baffling mood swings.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Romeo." He raised an eyebrow; it made his face seem almost comical. "So what brings you fine fellows here today? I know this shit ain't some courtesy call. I told you, you need La Raza!"

"Yer right, we do. Turns out here that Branna has been looking for someone. Long story short is, through a series of unfortunate events, the person she's looking for has managed to get a few pictures of us. We need to find him. He's not a good man." Connor explained.

Romeo nodded. Branna couldn't help but notice how wiry he was. He looked like a bundle of nerves all but ready to explode.

"Tío, utilizaremos su cuarto de la tienda.." He looked over to his uncle, who had moved down the bar and was ignoring the four individuals. Waving them to the side door closest to them, he nodded.

"Come with me, we'll talk"

**_A/N: Translations XD Hope you all enjoy so far. I'm loving how this story is forming. Let me know what you think, R and R please :D_**

**_"Que pense tu de la situation?" – What do you think of the situation? _**

**_"Beh evidement, on doit l'echappee." – Well, obviously we need to escape. _**

**_"Tio, utilizaremos su cuarto de la tienda" – Uncle, we're gonna use your store room. _**


	9. Jimmy Simms

_**A/N: The Winter Hill Gang actually did exist. It is unknown whether or not they are still active in North Boston. I do not own them, nor do I affiliate with them in anyway. Any and all portrayals are purely fictitious and any similarities are by pure accident. Jimmy Simms is a real person who was deeply involved with the WHG; his whereabouts are unknown at this date. I do not own him either. THX :D**_

_**P/S: This chapter gets a bit steamy. Quite descriptive too. Just a warning!**_

**Chapter 9: Jimmy Simms**

"Ok, so you need to find this Colin Fitzpatrick." Romeo said.

They were seated at a small card table in the back storage room of the restaurant. Connor and Murphy had put Branna between them. She was one who needed to do all the talking. She'd explained who Colin was, what he was good at and whom he'd worked for. She even described in detail what he looked like. When she got to the description, Romeo had said "Ok, tall dark and handsome. Got it." She'd stolen a glance at Murphy when the Mexican made the comment. His face had betrayed nothing but she could see the fire in his eyes.

"Ye think ye've seen who we be looking fer?" Connor asked hopefully.

"Well, I can't be too sure, but I have heard word on the street that there's a new guy in town helping out the Winter Hill Gang, but I've not seen anything come of it yet." Romeo replied thoughtfully.

"I thought the Winter Hill Gang had all but retired. Most of them are just racketeer junkies, fixing the horse races." Murphy looked confused.

Branna had no idea who any of these were. It was apparently quite evident on her face, as Connor turned to her to explain.

"The Winter Hill Gang are responsible for the great Gang war in Boston during the sixties. They didn't cause too much trouble for civilians, they were too busy drinking beer, fighting each other and betting their money on fixed races."

"Don't forget the drug trafficking," Murphy added. His twin nodded,

"Aye, the cocaine. Anyways, why the Winter Hill Gang?" Connor asked in confusion. "They're just old timers. What good would a bomb maker do them?"

Romeo stretched his neck. Leaning forward, he stretched his left leg out. From what Branna could tell he'd appeared to have healed well enough from the back injury to be able to stand and walk even, but not without heavy reliance on the cane.

"From what I've been able to glean from my informants, Jimmy Simms is missing. The men are having trouble keeping rein on their bookies and this new guy is helping them enforce the street." He said casually.

"Enforce the street? Branna, ye said Colin was their arms dealer. This guy can't be him." Murphy questioned.

Branna chewed her top lip. It didn't register. It wasn't making sense. Colin hadn't been an enforcer with the R.I.R.A. He'd been the main bomb builder. She didn't know of anything else Colin Fitzpatrick was better at.

"I don't know, he was more than an arms dealer Con, he was their number one bomb maker. His speciality was highly explosive nail bombs. It was a nail bomb that –" _killed me flesh and blood._ She finished in her head.

Murphy looked over sympathetically. The expression made Branna's heart hurt more. She wanted to take his hand in hers. He understood the pain this caused her. He may not have liked how she dealt with it, but at least he finally understood. The look in his eyes made her chest tighten. All she wanted to do was fall into his arms. All she wanted was for him to kiss her as gently as he did last night, before he'd turned into a pseudo-Freud. In an instant, she was fuming. If Colin hadn't killed her brother, if she hadn't been hell bent on a mission she wasn't even sure she'd be able to finish, she would have never left Ireland. She felt like such a fool. She'd given up the only thing that had made her truly happy after the death of Seamus. Given it up to chase a phantom.

This was all happening because Colin Fitzpatrick had made a nail bomb. He'd made a nail bomb, detonated it in public and killed not only her baby brother Seamus but also ten other civilians. It had been the worst attack from the R.I.R.A in over a decade. She could feel the tears coming. They were burning against her eyes. She had to move.

"I've got to powder me nose. Excuse me." She stood abruptly and walked out into the front of the restaurant.

* * * *

Murphy watched as Branna stiffened, trying to stifle the tears. It was hard for her to bring up her brother. He knew the story. She'd told him long ago. She hadn't told him that it was Colin's bomb, or that she was undercover in the R.I.R.A trying to find him, but she'd told him how the young man had died. She'd told him of the gore. He could see the distress in her eyes as she tried to maintain her composure. When she stood to leave, he knew why. Sometimes you just needed to cry it out alone.

"What's her problem?" Romeo asked thumbing the direction Branna went.

"The reason we're chasing this man is because he killed Branna's brother. Her only family left in this world. She's been hunting him for over ten years. She left –" Murphy caught himself. "Ireland to track him down. It's how she ended up here. She couldn't find him, and we ran into her. Somehow, Colin was able to find her in Boston, and the day he did, he saw her with us. She got a letter and photos with a warning. We got to find him Rome."

"What, do you guys like know her or something?" Romeo asked.

He looked in Murphy's direction and something in Murphy's face must have tipped him. Murphy could see the realization coming in waves across the Latino's face.

"Ahh, I get it. You used to bang her! Nice man! She does have a sweet little body on her –" Murphy cut him off, pointing a finger.

"Shut it. Don't be talkin' like that about her. She's more than just a body. Got it?" his temper flared. Romeo leaned back in his chair.

"Fair enough. I'm going to guess she's spoken for then?" he said pointedly to Murphy.

"Not quite." Connor interjected. "But I suggest ye leave it to Murph here. Branna Ferguson is a bit of a sore spot with him." He smirked.

Romeo nodded in understanding.

"Ok, I see. She jilted you didn't she?"

Before Murphy could answer, Branna appeared beside him.

"Actually Rome, yer right. I jilted poor Murph here. Ran out on him is more correct. But he did more than just 'bang me' as ye so put it," she made air quotes with her fingers. "Ye see, I was engaged to him." She said curtly taking a seat, silently revelling in the shock registering in Romeos face.

"And thank ye, I do have a quite a nice figure if I do say so meself." She continued without skipping a beat. "Do ye have any photos of this new guy? Because Colin knows where I am. He knows who I'm with. If I could just see who this new guy is whose working for this Winter Hill group."

"Sorry Chiquita, I don't have any photos right now, but gimme a couple of a days and I can get someone on the job. I got a cousin who does some investigation work and he owes me a favour." Romeo wiggled his eyebrows.

"Sounds like a plan to me." Murphy spoke.

Branna nodded in agreement. She looked over to Connor and Murphy saw his brother also agreed with the plan.

"Three days then? We come back in three days ye think ye might have something fer us?" Connor asked. The Mexican nodded.

"Leave it to Romeo. I'll take care of it."

The boys nodded. Murphy felt much better seeing Romeo face to face. It had been well over eight months since he'd seen the little man, and then he'd been gravely injured. To see him walking, albeit with a cane, but walking! That made Murphy smile even more.

* * * *

When they left the Silver Peso, Connor had said his adios and taken off. He cited that he had business to attend to. Branna had looked confused, but Murphy knew that Connor was going to troll the downtown to scope out any potential problems. He secretly hoped that Connor would get a glimpse of Colin. He should remember well enough what he looked like. The brothers had been pub friends with the man. They had frequented enough of the same venues that they learned in short order of his deeper dealings. It was then that they'd distanced themselves.

Back at the apartment, Branna had sat down at the kitchen table with a cigarette and a cup of coffee. Murphy walked into the small living room and flopped down on the couch. Swinging his legs up, he leaned into the worn furniture and folded his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes, hoping to catch a short nap.

"I wasn't happy." He heard from above him.

Opening his eyes, he saw Branna sitting on the short coffee table. He sat up, cocking an eyebrow.

"I wasn't happy." She repeated, folding her hands in her lap.

He didn't say anything. She was answering his question, but it wasn't the answer he had expected. When he didn't reply, she sighed.

"Ye asked me last night if I was happy, without ye. Ye didn't say that exactly, but I could tell it was what ye meant. I want ye to know, that the answer is no. I wasn't happy. It was the single hardest thing I ever had to do. Leaving ye was…" she trailed off.

Standing, she ran her hands through her hair that had fallen loose of its traditional knot. The long waves floated around her shoulders and down her back. Murphy stood and followed her paces. She stalked back and forth. He stood still. She was working herself up into a tizzy. He was afraid to step in and stop her lest she scratch his eyeballs out of pure adrenaline. Suddenly, she spun on her heel and faced him.

"Well God damn me all to the devil. Murphy, leaving ye broke me heart. The last ten years I've spent replaying that night over and over in me head. It's like a broken record; sometimes I just want to blow me own brains out so that it'll stop. It kills me. I know how much I hurt, and I can only imagine in me worst dreams how much it musta killed ye. I don't know how ye feel about me any more Murphy MacManus. I have no bloody clue." She took a breath and stepped towards him.

His breath slowed. He was speechless. For the second time in as short a period, Branna Ferguson had him at a loss for words.

"Sometimes, when ye have yer hands on me, or when ye look at me like ye did at Romeo's… sometimes I think that maybe there is still something there. Then ye run cold as the heart of Lucifer and it's like ye can't get far enough away from me."

She touched her hand to his forearm. Her fingers felt like fire on his bare arm. Murphy stood stoic. He watched her face as she tried to think of something more to say. It seemed as if she had something else to tell him, but she held her tongue. She swallowed hard. He watched her take a deep breath. Mirroring her, he gulped as she stepped in.

* * * *

Branna was sweating. Her heart felt like it was about to explode out of her chest. He stood like a frozen statue. His clear icy eyes were boring a hole into her. He hadn't said a word. After the last few days, all she wanted to do was hold him. She'd come to realize that she missed him more than her head would let her believe. Her heart had however, had a mind of its own.

Stretching up, she pressed her lips against his. His hands instantly were around her waist pulling her in. Wrapping her hands around Murphy's neck, Branna felt him deepen the kiss. She trailed her fingers up his neck and cupped his face. He moaned into her mouth and clutched her tighter. She sighed in his ear as his kisses trickled down her neck.

They pulled at each other, hardening the kisses; it became a mashing of their lips. Branna nipped his bottom lip with her teeth. Murphy groaned and in return clipped her collarbone shortly thereafter. His hand swept up into her hair and he closed a tight fist. He tugged her head back and kissed down her chin, planting kisses and the occasional nip down to her throat. Branna gasped at the force of it. She was used to his passion, but there seemed to be something more to this. She felt a fire burning in her belly, moving ever lower.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, she pushed him back. Forcing kisses on him as she felt his hands roam up under the hem of her shirt. His fingers traced rough patterns on her naked back. It sent shivers up her spine, raising gooseflesh. Her breath was coming quicker. As they backed up, his legs finally hit the edge of the couch. In a tumble, she fell down on top of him. He pulled her close as she straddled his lap. There didn't seem to be a flow. One minute he was biting and scraping his nails down her back and pulling at her hair, the next he laid gentle kisses over the bite marks, gently pressing himself into her.

She groaned as she felt his hand move over her left breast. He cupped it gently and kissed down her neck, nudging the collar of her t-shirt out of the way to her shoulder. Her hands moved to the hem of his shirt and pulled. He lifted his arms and flipped the black top off with ease. Within seconds his arms were around her again. This time his hands moved up her back, fiery hot on her skin. He pushed her shirt up. She understood his meaning and leaned back to pull the shirt over her head.

* * * *

Murphy was having trouble breathing. His eyes roamed over her nearly naked body. A black satin bra covered her breasts. He didn't know the name of the style, but he knew it made them look even more delicious. Reaching up, he slid an arm around her to pull her towards him again. He wanted to feel her body heat. It had been so long. God he missed the way her body felt. Her brilliant green eyes pleaded with him. He saw the worry, the pain and something that terrified him. He saw her love.

She still loved him. That was what she'd been trying to say. That had been what she'd been trying to explain to him. The thought tightened his chest. What was he doing? She just finished telling him how confused she was. She'd been right. He had been running hot and cold on her. It was because he didn't know how much of what he felt was nostalgia, or really truly love. He couldn't do this. God, this was going to hurt.

Branna was busy setting kisses to his shoulders. Her hands were encircling his waist.

"Branna," he said quietly. She didn't answer.

"Branna, we have to stop this." He said a little louder. She still didn't answer.

"Stop it Branna. What the fuck are we doing?" He had finally had to resort to this.

She sat bolt upright. She was frozen like a deer in the headlights. _Lord, please spare me the pain of what I'm about to do._ He prayed silently. He looked at her, and he saw the lust of the moment wearing off and recognition coming into her eyes. He had to be quick or it'd be too late.

"Get off. We can't. It isn't right." He started to say when all of a sudden he saw stars.

She'd slapped him! Reeling from the impact, he felt the pressure of her body shift off his legs. Blinking, he saw her grabbing her shirt from the floor and tugging it over her head. She wasn't ranting. Or raving for that matter. She was deadly silent. This was not good.

"Branna look –" he started to say as he stood up. She glared at him.

"Don't. Just don't ok? Leave it be. We'll pretend this never happened. Obviously that is what ye want. Just don't ever look at me the way ye looked at me today. Don't give me fake sympathy. Don't pretend to love me to make me feel better. Just don't."

In an instant she was out the door. Murphy stood in the living room, rubbing the burning out of his cheek unsure of exactly what had just transpired.


	10. Hell Hath No Fury

_**A/N: Sorry to all about the last chappie! LOL More tension to come! Hope you're all enjoying so far. Don't forget! R&R :D**_

**Chapter 10: Hell Hath No Fury**

Branna had been gone for two nights. It was making Connor worry. Murphy wouldn't say what had happened, nor did he know where she went. When he'd found out she was gone, he took a midnight trip to her flat to see if maybe she'd gone home, but it was empty. No sign of any entry whatsoever. He was at a loss of where she might be. The thought of what might have gone on in his absence made him a little more than sick to his stomach. He knew instinctually that it had to have been something either Branna did, or Murphy said. But getting a straight answer out of Murphy right now was almost like pulling teeth out of an angry pitbull.

When he'd returned, the night they had seen Romeo, he'd found Murphy half in the bag lying on the couch. Branna was nowhere in sight. He'd felt the tension the second he'd stepped into the room. Something had gone down and if he'd had his notions right, some unkind words were said - most likely shouted, and she'd up and gone.

"Ye mind telling me what the fuck happened?" Connor tried again.

He'd been asking the same question for three straight days. Murphy, sitting opposite him at the table, exhaled a plume of smoke in response to his question with a stoic stare. With a sigh, he butt out his own cigarette and folded his hands on the kitchen table, ready to counter Murphy's reluctance to talk.

"Look, ye know as well as I do that there is some serious shit going down right now. Serious shit that involves Branna and I don't know about ye, but if anything were to happen to her, I know that I wouldn't be able to live with that. She may have made a few mistakes -" When he said that, Murphy raised an eyebrow. "Ok, a lot of mistakes. But the girl's not a fucking criminal. She's a good person."

He sat back, satisfied that he made his point. Murphy's stoic stare turned into a seething abyss. He pushed himself away from the table, shoving the chair as he stood.

"Ye don't need to know. Why can't ye just leave it the fuck be? Ye always got to have yer nose in it! For Christ's fucking sake."

Murphy threw his hands in air, turning to walk away. Connor jumped up and grabbed his arm.

"Leave it the fuck be? Lord's fucking name Murphy! The man Branna is after has fucking photographic evidence of us! Us, the escaped fucking criminals! _That_ makes it me business. _That_ allows me to stick me fucking nose in it! Tell me what the fuck happened!!"

Connor watched his twin glare at him. Ripping his arm away, Murphy paced over to the couch. He could see that his twin was finally coming to terms with the severity of the situation. They needed to find this guy, with or without Branna's help.

"I, it's just that, I don't fucking have a clue." Murphy admitted as he rubbed his face with the palms of his hands.

"We get back, I go to have a lay down and she starts in on me about how she wasn't happy. About how she was never happy after she left. Rambling on about how it was the hardest thing she'd ever done, how she didn't know what was going on between us now, how - fuck everything. She-" Connor watched as Murphy turned red.

"I had to say no. To her." he finished.

Connor cocked an eyebrow at this. Murphy obviously caught his brother's confusion and scowled.

"Don't fucking look at me like that. It was the hardest thing I think I've ever had to do. She was all on top of me and, just fuck off." Murphy added defensively.

Connor raised his hands up in surrender. He understood now. Branna had tried to mend fences, in a confused, somewhat misguided way. Murphy had called it off and doing so had obviously infuriated Branna. Just like a woman to do so. He knew his twin still loved the woman, but he wasn't sure Murph did.

"Say no more brother. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Hell hath even more fury when that woman be Branna Ferguson."

* * * *

She was running down a side street towards the bakery on Dennison. She always took this route when she went for a run. She never was much of an exercise buff, and it showed in the extra softness to her tummy, but on occasion she loved a good run. Sometimes, you just needed to pound it out on the pavement. The concrete never argues, never tells you no, and never gets in your way. Unless your name is Branna Ferguson.

"Fer fucks sake!" Branna hollered as she picked herself up from the second fall of the morning.

Three days ago, she'd answered his question. Fuck, she'd done more than answer his bloody question. She'd outright gone and told him that she was damn near still in love with him. Yet he told her no! Branna fumed. How was it fair that he could do whatever his heart desired but god forbid she take fate into her own hands? Fucking Murphy MacManus. Rounding a corner, she jogged past the bakery and turned down the back alley entrance to her apartment. She hadn't been there since they'd stopped to pick up what she called 'essentials' a few days before.

After the incident with Murphy three days ago, she'd spent the last couple of nights at a hostel. She'd pulled out whatever little money she had left from her previous job. It was just enough for a few nights stay. Now, she had no choice but to go home. All she hoped was that the brothers had come, seen she wasn't to be found, and given up. Climbing the fire escape steps, she flung open the door to the loft.

At first, she thought she'd stepped into the wrong apartment. Her screen was torn down, her table upended; numerous articles were strewn haphazardly across the floor. There was broken glass in the kitchen, it was a total mess. Her hand flew to her back where she would normally find her Browning Hi Power and instead came across bare skin. Fuck! She'd left all her weapons at the MacManus flat. She had nothing with her. Goddamnit all to hell. Branna listened for any sound of someone in the apartment but there was nothing but the sound of her heavy breathing.

With a sigh she began to collect the broken pieces of the screen shielding the loo, stacking them in a pile by the fire escape. It was obvious someone had broken in, but from what Branna could determine, nothing was missing. Nothing of importance anyways. She couldn't believe she'd left her gun at Murphy's. Her gun was her safety, her protection. Without it, she felt naked as the day she was born. As she moved deeper into the apartment, tidying as she went, she looked up to see a sheet of white paper taped to her front door.

Squinting, she tried to read the fine printing. From this distance it looked like mere chicken scratch. Standing straight, she walked over to the door and ripped the note down. In tiny block letters, she read

"_Hiding won't do you any good. I'll find you." _

Her breath quickened. The blood pounded in her ears as she read the words over and over. Turning the paper over in her hands she stood speechless. Finally, at the bottom of the page, written in pencil were the words "Juggernaut 9:30" She did a double take, trying to think of what it could mean when the idea hit her.

"Bastard is giving me a head start." She breathed. Her eyes widened. "He thinks I won't find him before he finds me!"

* * * *

Murphy and Connor had spent the last three hours with Romeo going over the photos they'd gotten from Romeo's favour. There were a few distinct shots that the brothers believed could be Colin, but it had been so long they weren't entirely sure.

Murphy glanced over at his brother. He could tell by the frustration in Connor's eyes that he was wishing Branna were there to make a positive identification. His brother sat at the kitchen table thumbing through the photos while Murphy sat on the couch with an open bottle of Jamesons. He was trying not to think about the fact that she was gone.

Again.

All because he'd said no. Why had he said no in the first place? Things were getting so jumbled Murphy couldn't barely remember anything except the way the lamplight of the living room had outlined the curve of her hips as she straddled him three nights ago. Now, she was missing. Probably off trying to find a way to find Colin on her own. She had always been determined.

The sound of a door breaking down drew his attention. Wobbling to a stand, he saw Connor was already holding a gun to the unopened door and was waiting for Murphy to catch the other Beretta he was trying to toss him. He barely caught the pistol when it left Connor's hands. Obviously he'd drank a lot more than he'd thought as he felt the room tilt a bit to the left. Rubbing his face with his hand, he tried to shake off the buzz by focusing on the door.

Connor held the gun up high and slowly turned the knob to open the door.

"Where's me fucking gun." Came a female voice from the other side.

Murphy almost wanted to laugh with relief. It was Branna. She pushed the door aside, shoving Connor back a step. Stepping into the apartment, she repeated her question.

"Where. The. Fuck. Is. Me. Fucking. Gun?"

She looked livid. Her green eyes were fiery against the waves of hair that fell around her shoulders. At first glance, he saw she was dressed casually. A pair of black jogging pants, running shoes and a slightly oversized t-shirt indicated that this was obviously an impromptu visit.

"Right where ye left it." Connor motioned to the chair in living room.

Branna didn't reply, instead she stalked over to the chair and gathered her holster and the small duffle bag she'd left. She pulled the Browning out of the holster, clicked open the magazine and counted her bullets. Murphy watched in fascination as she did the same with the Firestar. She then proceeded to count each of her knives. Satisfied that all was as she had left it. She turned to go.

"Do ye really think ye can catch him?" Murphy called out behind her.

He watched as she stopped dead in her tracks. He hadn't meant to sound sarcastic. Or did he? The Jamesons was really blurring the lines right now. Maybe he should stop. Taking a swig, he put the bottle down on the coffee table and looked up to face the seething woman in front of him.

"It's no business of yers whether I can catch him or not! Not that it matters to ye, but I know exactly where he might be. I'm going there. I need me gun fer that and I was stupid enough to leave it here. So now that I've got it, I'm leaving. Thank ye for all yer help but I can take it from here."

Murphy blinked as she turned to leave. Shaking his head, he sat back down on the couch. Let Connor deal with her. He wasn't of the mind to face that – that – woman. He heard Connor speaking in hushed tones. He couldn't make out what his brother was saying. All he wanted to do was sleep. It was only five o'clock but the whiskey was wearing on him. He felt his eyes close.

_Lying in bed, he could feel her breathing lightly. The warm air tickled across his bare chest. Looking down, he saw the whorl of her hair sweeping across his left arm. Her left hand was perched on top of his right, and he could see the bright green gemstone blinking brilliantly in the early afternoon light._

_He couldn't believe she'd said yes. He knew she led a life full of secrets, and it was for good reason that she didn't tell him what they were. Seeing Gram's ring on her finger made his heart swell. Finally, he felt at peace._

_"Why are ye staring at me like that?" her eyes peered up at him from under the dark mess of her hair._

_"Because," he said quietly, running his free hand up her side. ._

_She seemed satisfied with that answer and kissed his shoulder before rolling over onto her other side. He moved with her, wrapping his arm around her waist pulling her into him. They'd spend all night and most of the morning in bed. It had been glorious. Murphy silently thanked God for bringing him someone who finally understood._

_Her breath deepened as he felt her sink into sleep once more. Feeling the familiar tug on his own eyelids, he inhaled deeply and felt himself drift off to join her in his dreams._

"Murphy, get up." Connor was shaking him.

He opened his eyes, dazed. Connor was dragging him off the couch.

"What the fuck!" he managed to squeak out as his ass hit the floor.

"We gotta go. Branna is already gone, but I know where she's going. We have to leave now! Here, get dressed. We have to hurry!" Connor said exasperatedly, holding up a pair of dark wash jeans and a clean black shirt.

He was confused now. Why would he need to change? And how did he find out where Branna was going? Yawning, he stretched off the last of the whiskey and tugged his shirt over his head.

"Where do we have to go in such a fucking hurry?" he asked snidely. "What, Branna can't take care of herself?" He felt his own heart crumble a bit when he heard how that sounded coming out of his mouth.

Connor just glared.

"She went back to her apartment, and Colin and his men had been there. They tore the place apart. Left her a note basically saying she's a dead woman. Branna found a pencil mark on the bottom of the note saying 'Juggernaut 9:30' do ye even know what the fucking Juggernaut is?" His twin looked frustrated at Murphys lack of co-operation. He didn't care right now; all he wanted was for Branna to be gone so that he didn't have to deal with it.

"Aye, some sort of club isn't it?" Murphy replied.

"A fucking club?" Connor looked up to the lord as if asking him to save him from his idiot of a brother.

"It's about the worst kind of club out there. Plenty of those things called roofies, and the drugs flashing around like it's a pharmaceutical party! She's going down there to try and find him. We have to go after her. She's liable to get herself killed!"

Connor was done dressing. Tying up his boots he stood, attaching his pair of Berettas to their holster under his jacket. His brother looked sympathetically over at him.

"I know that as much as ye are angry with the lass, ye don't want to see her dead do ye?"

It wasn't a question. Murphy knew it. With a grim shake of his head, he picked up his own set of pistols and put them away in his own holster.

* * * *

Branna wasn't sure she could see straight anymore. She'd arrived at 7 o'clock to scope out the surroundings. It was dark. That was about all she could really determine. Occasionally there was a flash of coloured lights and a disco ball floated from the rafters, glinting over the crowd of people on the dance floor. The bass made her chest throb. Jesus, was this what the kids were listening to do these days? It felt like her chest was about to explode. She scratched the top of her head. The wig was terribly uncomfortable.

She'd decided on the wig as a disguise. She knew Colin would recognize her with her hair as it was, so on her way to the club, she stopped in to a costume shop and picked up a wig of long blonde hair. It looked real enough, but the bangs were cut so blunt that they tickled the tops of her eyes. It was all she could do to not rip the thing off her head.

Scanning the room, she casually lifted her seventh drink to her mouth, taking a long gulp. Getting drunk wasn't helping the situation, but with no sign of Colin and it being almost ten thirty, she had all but given up. Now, now she was just trying to forget. The dance floor lit up to the beat of the next song, the crowd was gyrating and waving their arms around. Through the sea of people, she caught the sight of twin heads parting their way through the throng. She'd know those heads anywhere.

It was Connor and Murphy MacManus. Fuck.


	11. I Don't Feel Like Dancing

_**A/N: Big thanks go out to **__**eXsTorDiNaRiLy InViSiBlE for her brainstormy-ness and help. Check out her BDS fic "Breath To Sanctify."**__** Another big thanks to my beta Batman McGhee! Her grammatical help has been fantastic! Hope you all enjoy what comes next. Please don't forget to Read and Review! Love ya'll! **_

**Chapter 11: I Don't Feel Like Dancing **

It was a massive crowd. Finding one girl was turning out to be like finding a needle in a haystack. Damn near fucking impossible. Looking over the multitude of bodies, Murphy saw a blonde woman move quickly away from the raised seating area; away from the dance floor. Something about the way she'd looked over at him raised the hair on his neck. Tugging on Connor's arm he dragged him towards the direction she'd moved.

Casually, he squeezed between the dancing bodies mashing against each other to the beat. He approached the bar, signalled to the bartender for a beer and watched the blonde out of the corner of his eye. Connor pulled up behind him. Looking at the beer in his brother's' hand, he laughed.

"What? Ye didn't have enough to drink back at the house? Mind ye, it's so bloody hot in here ye almost need it."

Connor shook his jacket lightly. Neither of them could take the coats off. Light enough for a walk on a windy day; both jackets were concealing their arms. They'd managed to sneak them past the bouncers on the way in by pushing them back with their elbows as they were pat down. Once inside however, the heat of all the people was nearly stifling. Murphy could feel the sweat already trickling down his back.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blonde leaning with her back to him. He pulled the collar on the jacket up so it camouflaged his face. Connor was slugging down a beer beside him.

"What are ye looking at?" his brother asked loudly in his ear.

"That girl, something seems off. Just doesn't seem right." Murphy replied.

His brother followed his own gaze down the bar at the slender blonde bombshell. She was dressed to the nines in a slinky green dress that was littered with sparkly things that reflected lights akin to a neon sign that said, "Open for business." The dress fell quite short of her knees, leaving little to be desired as Murphy's eyes trailed down her legs that were held up by heels that could only be described as too fucking high. She was quite the looker from this angle.

As much as the blonde made him uneasy, he had to keep an eye out for Branna. If she was still flying high and mighty on her own piss and vinegar it was a likely chance she'd get herself into a tight spot. He heart winced at the thought of her getting herself seriously hurt because she was pissed he did the right thing.

* * * *

She knew he was watching her. She always knew when he was watching her. His eyes seemed to bore a hole into her back. Sipping on her drink she leaned against the bar. Fuck, these heels were so not a good idea. Her feet ached, it felt like her calves were exploding out the back of her legs and her toes had gone numb.

To make things even sweeter, her inner thigh holster was itching from the heat. She was sweating all over. Branna felt the tip of the knife against her upper thigh. The holster itself was the kind that wrapped around your waist and then angled down to the upper groin area on the leg. The length of her skirt barely covered it. She'd breathed easier when security patted down the outside of her skirt, and steered clear of her bare legs.

She scanned the crowd looking for the blonde head of Colin Fitzpatrick. She hadn't seen him all night. Once she thought that maybe she had seen him slip into the bathroom but she hadn't been close enough to tell for sure.

Laying the straw of her drink on the bartop, she took a long swig of the fruity drink. It tasted like mangos. She hated mangos. She'd decided when she got here that she'd play the part of a blonde bimbo and flashy blondes didn't chug a beer back. They liked those fruity mixer things. At least, that's what Branna had thought. What she hadn't counted on was the stiffness of each drink she took. It tasted like nothing was in them, but she'd begun to feel their effects after her fourth – the pineapple margarita.

The music was beginning to sound fuzzy in her ears. When she turned her head to scan the opposite side of the room, she had to steel herself against the urge to vomit. She was drunker than she'd thought. _Keep it together,_ she thought. _Hold out for just a little while longer than ye can go home._ She repeated the mantra in her head until the world was still again.

Peeking out of the corner of her eye, she saw Connor and Murphy scanning the room. Probably looking for her. Fucking Connor. She knew she shouldn't have told him where she was going. Murphy looked like shit. In the dim light, his face looked sunken and shallow. When he turned to watch her again, she saw his eyes were red. Serves him right. He needs to feel some agony for a while. Immediately, she regretted it. She remembered the agony she put him through when she left him the first time. She knew the well of pain that she'd opened. It only seemed fair that he get to execute some revenge. She deserved it, she thought grimly.

* * * *

Again, Murphy watched the blonde try and lean casually against the bar. She looked awkward and uncomfortable. It made his concerns even more imminent. He watched the couple beside her stand and leave. As she slid into the seat, he saw the glint of a knife against her inner light as she crossed her leg over her knee. He kicked Connor in the leg.

"What the fuck was that fer?" his brother cried in surprise.

"That blonde has a knife on her." He leaned in close to his twins' ear. "She could be working for Colin."

Connors eyes narrowed with understanding. Murphy knew his brother could sense how he felt about the blonde woman. Connor had always been able to understand Murphy's feelings. His gut instincts. They slowly rose as one, Murphy taking the lead; and slid down the bar slowly. Trying to get closer.

The blonde was busy watching the dance floor and idly sipping some bright yellow concoction with a straw. They would move slowly, one standing and pacing before finally edging closer. They were only a few feet away now. Suddenly, she abruptly stood up. Her sky-high heels wavered a bit as she teetered towards the bathroom.

They watched for a minute more and then Connor casually tailed her. Murphy grabbed another beer and sauntered after his brother. It was then that he saw the large security guard suddenly step forward and cut off Connors view of the woman. Stretching up, his brother looked over the crowd. Within seconds Connor was marching over to him.

"Ye were right again my dear brother." A grin splashed across his face.

"What are ye talking about?" Murphy asked questioningly. "What did ye see?"

Connors grin got even wider.

"Ye said the blonde had made ye feel uneasy no?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, something about her just didn't settle right."

"Well that might have something to do with the fact that Blondie is Branna." Connor started to laugh. He took Murphy's beer and took a long chug.

Murphy shook his head. Had he heard right? The blonde with the legs to forever was Branna? She was wearing heels? God he'd never seen her in anything but jeans and shorts. What the hell was she doing in a sparkly frock? And she was blonde? It couldn't be Branna. Too many things didn't fit with what Murphy knew. _Or thought he knew._ His mind interjected.

"It can't be Branna ye eejit. That woman is blonde. Branna is not."

Connor smiled again, taking pleasure in his twins' confusion.

"I watched her walk into the bathroom. Before the door closed, another lass stepped in and I saw her plain as day. She's wearing a wig."

At this Murphy was shocked. She'd really pulled out all the stops. She'd changed her appearance and even put on a fucking wig. Murphy was astonished. This was so unlike the Branna he'd known. Yet, in a strange and comforting way, he felt better knowing that she'd had the common sense to disguise herself.

"Should we tell her the jig is up?" Connor asked, letting his brother be the deciding factor in the result of their tracking.

Murphy shook his head. Let her be the hero tonight. As much as he knew he did the right thing, seeing the pain on her face when he'd said no had nearly paralysed him. He knew exactly what he'd seen there. She still loved him. It was plain as day. He should have known, she hadn't left him because she'd fallen out of love. She'd left because she was terrified he would expose her, and that he didn't love her anymore. Returning his thoughts to the present, he shrugged.

"Let her think she's got it handled. We can hang around, make sure she doesn't cause too much of a ruckus."

The brothers leaned against the railing. They had a clear view of the bathroom from here. Branna came out of the bathroom, wig replaced. She slipped through the crowd of people with ease, she was a near shadow. Murphy watched as she went to up to a bar, and returned with yet another fruity looking drink. She looked uncomfortable. That much was obvious.

He watched closely as two men appeared to hover around in the background. One of them was a tall, burly man with a bull neck. He casually sidled in beside her for a minute. Murphy watched as he tried to make casual conversation. She didn't give him a reply. Obviously feeling the snub, the man retreated back to his friend. Bull neck looked over at her again, Murphy couldn't make out exactly what was being said but he knew that it was about Branna. The burly man and his friend moved a few feet closer.

Neither was close enough to seem threatening, but Murphy knew what he was looking at. He quickly hopped the railing and he felt Connor behind him. He stalked across the dance floor, keeping his face turned away enough so Branna wouldn't see him come up the stairs on her side of the room.

Casually he walked up to the closer man. He went to pass by him and as he did, he pulled the Beretta out of its holster and pressed it into the man's lower back.

"I can see what ye be thinking, but she's off limits. Ye leave her be or I will shoot ye dead. Ye hear me?" Murphy whispered into the man's ear. The man was frozen on the spot. He nodded and Murphy shoved him into the fray of bodies. His friend, having witnessed what had happened, simply nodded at him and took off.

Now, Murphy was looking at Branna's back. The dress seemed to hug all the right places. Those heels, they were ridiculously uncomfortable looking but they seemed to take her already stunning legs and turn them into these gams that went into oblivion.

"She looks pretty damn good Murph. In fact," Connor said with a laugh, "She looks fucking hot. I don't think I've ever seen a woman with legs like that."

Murphy scowled and gave his brother a shove. Connor just laughed and took his beer again. The laughter gone from his face, he saw his twin's seriousness.

"Ye know we can't fend off every fool in here who wants a go."

He looked over at his brother. He knew he was right. It was a waste of time to try and fight off every man who wanted to try and talk to her. He knew in his head that it was the right thing, to hang back and let Branna take care of herself. She was armed at least. The knife, small as it may be, could prove useful. That alone was almost sufficient for Murphy to breath easy.

His heart however, saw her standing there looking as beautiful as he'd ever seen her, and knew that he couldn't let her stay on her own. The thought of some drunken idiot pawing his hands all over her made him feel sick. The thought that Colin Fitzpatrick might suddenly appear and take her made him panic. No, they should get her out of here, back to their flat. Where he could at least keep and eye on her.

As Murphy realized this, he was struck by how natural it felt. Even know, after all this time, he just wanted to protect her. He knew well enough that she was more than capable, but the nausea of worrying thoughts made him tense. Would it be any different? He couldn't agonize about it now. Moving forward, he stepped up to her. All of a sudden, it hit him.

The smell of booze was almost overpowering. He realized then that she wasn't tottering simply because of the shoes. She was bloody well blitzed! He chuckled to himself as he watched her try and finish her drink. She leaned a little to the left as she tried to take the last of what was in her plastic cup. If she hadn't been intoxicated, it might have actually been quite cute. Murphy knew was what coming and he dove. She fell over into his arms.

* * * *

Branna felt the world stop. Her stomach lurched forward as she fell sideways. She'd lost her balance tipping the remainder of whatever it was she was drinking. She'd had absolutely no idea what was happening until her ankles buckled and sideways she went.

Someone had caught her. Taking a deep breath, she resisted the urge to purse her stomach contents all over his boots. The mystery man helped her stand back up. It was quite a trial, getting her ankles underneath her was like trying to stand up a cooked noodle. He finally helped her get propped back up against the railing and she could look up and thank her rescuer.

She started to open her mouth when she saw the familiar smirk. Her heart sank. Murphy was trying to refrain from laughter. He saw right through her disguise. How disappointing.

"Are ye ok lass?" he said with a touch of concern in his eyes.

She really wanted to be angry. Angry that he would put his nose in after all that's happened. But her head was starting to hurt, and she wasn't going to be able to resist the phone call to God for much longer. She wanted to walk away from him; she urged her legs to move. She didn't budge. Sighing, she flapped her arms once in reluctance.

"Jus take me home." She slurred.

God! Is that what she sounded like? Inebriation didn't even cover where she was now. Murphy nodded with a smile and slid an arm around her waist. Connor came out of nowhere and followed suit on her opposite side. Between the two brothers, they helped her get to the front door of the club with little to no injury.

Outside, as they walked towards the corner, she breathed in. The fresh air felt wonderful, wonderfully refreshing and wonderfully nauseating. In a flash she was hobbling to a dumpster down the side of a building. She didn't feel the wig slid off her head but it somehow ended up in the bottom of the dumpster. She felt a hand on the back of her head and sighed. Murphy was holding her hair back. At least she thought he was until the grip tightened and she was jerked backwards onto the pavement.

* * * *

Connor'd seen her face go from glossy to green as soon as they stepped outside. She was holding out like a trooper. He had no idea how much she'd had to drink previously but judging by how she darted for the nearest bin, he could be pretty sure it had been a fair amount.

From the entry to the alleyway, they waited. Murphy'd wanted to go and make sure she was all right. He'd had to stop him.

"Normally, it'd be the gentleman thing to do Murph, but Branna isn't yer normal woman. I think she'd just prefer to be ill in peace. It's late enough, she'll be fine."

His brother finally relented and lit a cigarette. Then they'd heard a crash from behind them. Taking off at a run, the brothers tore down the alley. It was dark enough that they couldn't see the face of the attacker, but enough light caught the sparkles on Branna's dress that they could see she was on the ground.

Murphy drew his gun and fired a shot. It clipped the attacker in the shoulder. As they got closer Connor stopped short. Realization prickled his neck. He looked over at Murphy; his twin looked as if someone had dumped an ice bath over his head.

The figure stepped over Branna's limp body and into the light. Sandy blonde hair hung loose at his shoulders and his eyes were liquid pools of brown. He had fresh slash marks across his cheek. Connor heard Murphy sigh in relief that she'd managed to get a few digs in. They stood rigid as the man's face lit up.

"Well, if it isn't the Saints of South Boston." He said

Standing in front of them was Colin Fitzpatrick.


	12. Scars

**Chapter 12: Scars **

Murphy levelled his pistol at Colin's face. The shot he'd fired had only grazed the man. The sleeve of his shirt was torn and there was little blood. Fuck.

"I knew ye two would have to be somewhere in the vicinity. I almost didn't think the little lass would even show. I been here for three nights. I figured ye both would have her locked in a tower like the fucking princess she thinks she is." Colin laughed.

Murphy stole a glance to Branna behind him. She wasn't moving, but he couldn't see if it was because she'd passed out from inebriation, the force of impact, or if – he didn't even want to think about that right now. He felt the anger boiling. Colin glided back a step towards her and smirked as he took in his prize. It took all of Murphy's strength to stay put and wait.

"Yer out manned Colin. Don't be getting any funny ideas." Connor said evenly as he pulled the hammer back, loading a bullet into the chamber.

Murphy couldn't speak. He wanted to blast the fucker into oblivion. He wanted to pull the trigger and empty the clip into the man's face. He prayed that the Lord would give him the strength to resist.

Keeping a close eye on the prostrate woman, he watched to see if she would move. She hadn't yet. _Come on Branna,_ Murphy willed. _Get up. Just get up. _All he wanted to do was take her home. Angry or not, she needed medical attention not to mention she was more than three sheets to the wind. He'd deal with her fury later. Right now, she needed to be safe.

"What makes ye think I haven't got someone waiting in the wings?" Colin said quietly.

He was unarmed from what they could see, but it didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. Colin kneeled beside Branna and slid a hand up her bare leg. Murphy cocked his gun. He watched as Colin's fingers crawled under her skirt and pulled out her silver knife.

"I s'pose this was supposed to protect her?" he laughed tossing it into the trash. "She knows nothing. Stupid bitch." Colin turned his attention back to the brothers.

"I've got me own posse now boys! Ye wouldn't believe. I'm more than just the number one arms dealer in the beautiful state of Massachusetts, but turns out I'm quite good with the books. Know how to run a tight ship. It's why yer little girlfriend here could never find me." Colin stared Murphy down.

Before he could answer, they saw a patrol car doing a pass at the end of the alley. Colin stiffened. The boys didn't flinch. The patrol car did another sweep; this time flashing its fog light down into the alley. The MacManus brothers dove forward. Connor knocked Colin off his feet while Murphy crawled over to Branna. She didn't seem to be badly injured. A few scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious. He listened for her breath and realized he'd been holding his own when he felt her breathing across his hand. Behind him, Connor called out.

"He took off. Let's get out of here before Boston's finest decide to come investigate!"

Murphy scooped Branna up, tossing his gun to Connor.

* * * *

Sunlight burned her eyes. Scrunching her eyes closed, Branna tried to roll over. Suddenly it felt as if she were being rolled around in one of those rides that spin you over and over again. Her head throbbed and the room swam before her. She froze. Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes.

Where was she? She was lying on a mattress in a room. Lifting the light blanket covering her she let out a tiny cry. She was stripped to her skivvies and her abdomen was covered in large purple bruises. She ached all over. There didn't seem to be a joint or muscle that was happy with her today. Not to even mention her legs and feet. It felt like her calves separated from her knees and no longer existed.

_Who did this? _

_What happened last night? _

_Where the fuck was she_?

She began to panic. Goddamn the sun was bright today. She shielded her eyes from the light and tried to sit up slowly. Slowly seemed to work. Suddenly the door opened. She ripped the blankets up to her neck until she realized it was only Murphy. Sighing, she relaxed her shoulders.

"Here, it's not one of those fruity things ye were making friends with last night, but it'll keep the spins at bay." Murphy laughed lightly, passing her a steaming mug of hot coffee. She smiled weakly before taking a sip.

"Thank god it was ye I woke up to. I don't remember what the fuck happened last night. One minute I be staring into a dumpster emptying me guts, and the next thing… blackness. Did I pass out?" she asked earnestly. He winced.

"Not quite love,"

"Well would ye mind explaining to me what happened? I have no bloody idea remember?"

Murphy's face was near blank, and from what Branna knew of him that meant something important had happened. Tilting her head to the side, she repeated her original question.

"Tell me what the fuck happened right now Murphy MacManus, something happened. I can see it plain as day on yer face."

He seemed unfazed. Shrugging his shoulders, he sipped his own coffee and took another toke of his cigarette.

"We ran into some trouble is all."

"Trouble? Did Colin show?" Branna sat bolt upright, some coffee splashed over the lip and hit her hand.

"Fuck!"

Sliding back, wiping her hand on the blanket she looked up again at Murphy's face. He had that look in his eyes, that look that said _I know more than I'm willing to tell but please just let it be?_

Sighing she took another sip of her coffee. She leaned against the wall, pushing the pillow against her lower back and tucked the blanket under her arms, holding it above her chest level. She felt strangely naked sitting here in front of him, considering she wasn't much more clothed than this the other night. He kneeled down and looked at her, as if to ask if he could sit on the edge of the mattress. She nodded, sticking a hand out to show him all the room there was.

"There's plenty of room. Take a seat." She said.

"Just bein' polite is all, don't get fussy." Murphy chided gently.

He held out an open package of cigarettes. She smiled and took one, popping it between her lips. She waited for him to put one between his own lips. He pulled out the lighter, and she scooted forward enough that all she had to do was lean forward while he lit his own cigarette. With their foreheads nearly touching, Branna heard Murphy sigh. Inhaling deep enough to light her smoke, she leaned back.

"I don't remember too much of what happened, but I do remember ye hanging over me briefly. What happened Murph, please tell me at least tell me why I'm covered in bruises." She asked earnestly.

Leaning back on one arm, he exhaled a plume of smoke.

"Ye were off being sick, Connor said we shoulda let ye take care of it yerself. Colin showed up, and he started in on ye. Mind ye, while ye weren't sober enough to really fight back, ye got him pretty well across the cheek. He'll have some nice cuts from that. Well done."

Branna looked at him. She knew there was more to it. Closing her eyes she tried to remember what happened. She remembered being sick, she remembered being thrown across the alleyway, she remembered.

* * * *

"Where's me knife?" she asked.

Murphy sighed. He knew it wouldn't have taken her long to try and figure it out. He didn't want to tell her she'd been groped by the enemy, fuck he'd been trying to forget for the last 12 hours. The image of Colin's hands slowly sliding up her thigh made him so angry he could barely breathe.

"I don't know." He answered simply. He wasn't going to tell her.

"Where is me thigh holster then?" she asked again, this time her anger funnelled through.

When he didn't answer, she deflated quietly. For a while she didn't talk to him. They just sat and smoked in peace. Connor wasn't going to be back for a few hours, he'd gone to get some more supplies and see who he could round up to join them. It was going to take more than just the three of them to see this man down.

Suddenly, she looked up at him, her green eyes glassy.

"I know he took it." She said. "I remember him touching me. His hand on me leg."

He heart pulled as he listened to the waver in her voice. She'd remembered. He knew she would have eventually.

"Branna, he took the knife and tossed it. I didn't want to tell ye about it simply because well, watching him touch ye like that just about drove me crazy." His shoulders sagged. Finally, she knew he still cared enough to protect her.

He watched as she rubbed a hand over her face and set the empty coffee mug on the floor. Sliding down into the covers, she looked up at him and asked,

"Would it bother ye to just lay here with me? I'm so tired, and this blanket isn't quite keeping out the cold ye know?" He watched her fumble over what she was asking. Her eyes sagged.

"I know that shits all fucked up right now, and that it's mostly my fault, but please? I – I –" She couldn't get the words out but he knew she was trying to say she felt vulnerable. It was the only way to describe what she looked like.

Her face was pale and ashen; her dark hair a mass of mess and her eyes looked hollow. She looked like a bloody corpse. He didn't even want to think about the large bruises left from Colin's beating. Nodding a yes to her feeble question, he turned himself so that as he lay down beside her, she was nestled into the fold of his arm. She pulled the blanket up around her shoulder and curled against his chest.

He ran his hand absentmindedly through her hair, combing out the tangles from the previous night. He felt her breathing in sync with him, the rise and fall of each breath taken together. It was driving him crazy. Did he still love her? Feeling her against him, having felt her kiss him, felt the blaze of fire still between them made him believe he did. But was it enough to stave the pain of betrayal? Of her lies? _God, give me an answer please?_ He prayed.

"I miss this." He heard her whisper quietly.

"I do too." Had he said that out loud? Christ, the woman was loosening his tongue with every breath she took.

She looked up at him and blinked, a half smile the only spark of sunshine on her face. He slid down enough so that they were face to face.

"Murph, will ye ever forgive me?" she whispered.

Kissing her forehead, he pulled her closer. After a minute, he spoke.

"I forgive ye for leaving. Ye were only doing what ye thought was right."

"But?" she asked, her eyes staring him down like twin jewels catching the sunlight.

"But ye didn't tell me the truth. It's harder to forgive a lie. I loved ye. I would have done anythin' fer ye, including helping ye find the man who killed yer brother. But ye didn't believe in me. I don't know if I'm able to trust ye yet." He replied.

She nodded, burying her head into his shoulder. He knew she was trying to suppress the tears. His face felt tight. This was the first time he'd been honest. He wasn't angry any more. Seeing how much pain she was in every time they talked about the day she left took away his anger. It upset him, much worse. He could deal with angry. Angry was safe. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he closed his eyes and tried to forget about everything else except the sound of her breathing against his chest.

It was just Branna, just him. The apartment was silent save for the sound of their breathing. It was nice, almost too nice, lying in bed. The warm sun shone through the window, casting random shadows. Opening his eyes, he brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face. She looked at him. He took a breath,

"Branna, I don't know if I can't forgive ye the lies." Her eyes took on a pained expression. She went to open her mouth and he hushed her.

"I can't forgive yer lies right now. But I want too. Can we just give it some time love?"

When she nodded her agreement, it felt like a dead weight had lifted off his chest. Murphy leaned in and gently kissed her. He wanted her to know that he was trying. He could feel a tear slide down her cheek as they explored each other's mouths. This was different from any other kiss they'd shared. Branna clung to him as he squeezed her tight, whispering in his ear.

"I think that'll work just fine for me."

_**A/N: Sorry for the shortness of this one lovelies, I spent quite a few days wondering how to continue this chapter but I realized that this was just how it was meant to play out. Next chapter coming up shortly! **__**Hope you love it! R&R pls! **_


	13. Stuck In the Middle

**Chapter 13: Stuck In the Middle **

A loud bang roused Murphy from slumber. Blinking sharply, he sat up. Branna was curled into a ball beside him; the blankets pulled tight around her. Rubbing a hand over his face, he rolled out of bed and opened the door to the bedroom. Connor was back.

Out in the living room, Connor looked lost in the kitchen. Murphy smirked as his brother fumbled through the cupboards and stared down the stove as if willing it to turn on. On the couch sat a svelte woman in a black leather jacket and faded skinny jeans. Her pale complexion was dotted with freckles leading up to a shock of short red hair. The style of the cut left a swoop of bang in front of her face.

Beside her was Rome, dressed in jeans and a dark green t-shirt. He was sitting with a leg propped up on the short coffee table.

"Look who decided to join the party!" Romeo exclaimed when he saw Murphy.

The two friends clasped arms and Murphy put a finger to his lips. Romeo nodded.

"Branna sleeping? Connor told us about what happened last night. Thought you two leprechauns might need some backup so I called in someone." He gestured to the strange woman on the couch. "This is Jess."

The redhead leaned forward and extended an arm.

"Names Jessica Madigan, but most people call me Jess. It's nice to finally put a real face to the Saints. You know, those composites they show on the TV don't really do you justice." She winked.

Shrugging off the obvious slight flirtation, he walked into the kitchen. Murphy tapped Connor on the shoulder. He smirked as his brother spun around. Turning the knob on the stove, Murphy turned the front burner on, placed the pot of water on the burner and fixed his brother with a look.

"What?" his twin asked.

"The mugs are on the top shelf." He pointed to show his twin what he'd been looking for.

"Oh fer fucks sake!" Connor hollered.

"Shut the fuck up! Did ye not fucking hear me the first time? Branna's sleeping. Last night really fucked with her head." Murphy poked his brother in the shoulder.

Connor's face went from frustration to sombre in seconds.

"Don't. Don't fucking do it brother."

"Do what? This?" Murphy could sense his brother's inner frustration. It was like an instinct. He reached forward and thrust another finger deep into Connor's shoulder. Connor's eyes darkened.

'I'm warning ye. Don't. I don't have the patience for yer bullshit."

Murphy was startled. What the fuck was his problem? Connor'd been acting strange all morning. Said he was going to go round up some troops after they'd brought Branna back to the apartment in the wee early hours of the morning. He'd come back with a name and phone number and then left within minutes of coming through the door. Now, hours later, he had Romeo and this red headed sprite of a thing sitting pretty on the couch while he was acting like he had bloody banshees in his pants. And yet, he had the bollocks to talk about his bullshit?

"My bullshit? My fucking bullshit? Fuck you!" Murphy landed a hard left jab to his brothers' face.

Connor sprawled backwards, using the countertop as leverage. Scrambling forwards he shoved his twin back. All of a sudden it was arms and legs every which way. Murphy felt a fistful of hair being tugged while he drove hard punches into his brother's' abdomen. Connor was landing kidney shots and kicking. Amid the grunts and the sounds of violence, a clear voice rang out.

"Would you both mind please? For fucks sake. Are they always like this?"

Murphy caught Romeo's sigh.

"It's like babysitting a bunch of ankle biters when they get like this."

"Well I for one am not going to sit here while they beat the shit out of each other." The red head's voice sighed. "Didn't the dark haired one want us to keep quiet anyways cause that girl they're trying to protect is sleeping? She won't be much longer if this keeps up."

Ignoring the woman, Murphy continued to scrap. He landed a hard stomp to Connor's left foot, Connor howled and released him. As graceful as a swan, Jess slid in between them.

"You, cut it." She pointed at Connor. "I don't care what he did. It's over now. Make the fucking coffee. I'm thirsty as fuck."

Murphy watched her turn her piercing blue eyes to him.

"You, what the fuck? You tell us to keep it down so that we don't wake sleeping beauty in there, yet you go on and have a full on brawl? Explain please?" she held her hands out waiting for an explanation.

"Who do ye think ye are? Me Mum? Fuck off." He turned to go into the living room and saw Branna standing there in the doorway.

She'd pulled on one of his t-shirts and a pair of his jeans; the jeans hung way too low on her hips. She looked incredibly sexy, her dark hair mussed and swimming in the sea of his clothing. Had he not been in front of company, there were many a thing he would like to do with her, namely get her out of his pants. She was grasping the waistband with one hand, holding them out in silent sarcasm.

"Hey, sorry about the noise, love. I didn't mean to wake ye," He said quietly.

Walking over to her, he kissed her on the mouth. He could feel Connor's confusion boring into his shoulders. Shrugging it off, he smiled at the dark haired woman in front of him.

"I know exactly what ye didn't mean. Trouble is ye never mean what ye end up doin' now do ye Murphy MacManus?" She smiled a crooked smile.

Her teasing tone made him laugh. Taking her by the free hand, he pulled her towards the bedroom.

"Come on, I'll bring ye some pants. Ye can't be wearing those all day."

"Why not?" Branna scoffed. "Ye don't think they suit me?"

"Well, as good as they look on ye, they're me lucky jeans and I'm gonna need them. So yer gonna have to change."

* * * *

Jess turned her azure gaze to Romeo. He was casually leaning back against the couch with a smile on his face. She wanted to be annoyed at Rome for not giving her the full story. It was obvious there was more to it than "the Saints need a few extra hands bumping someone off." The darker haired twin, Murphy was it? He had just laid a whopper on the girl they were trying to protect. Sneaking a glance over to the other twin in the kitchen, Connor, she felt herself flush. From what Romeo had told her, neither one of the boys were very astute at homemaking, in fact his words had been "will burn water." To see him fumbling over the stove, clucking like a mother hen, was endearing. Not so much that she wasn't curious as to whether or not it was for her benefit, or the dark haired woman Murphy had taken back to his room.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable she turned to Romeo again, levelling a penetrating look.

"So tell me the full story. What the fuck just happened? Are they, or are they not, protecting this woman from Fitzpatrick because it's the right thing to do? Or is it because they've both got some weird ass fucking twin 'thing' going on for her? Not that it matters, cause to be honest, she's good looking and it wouldn't surprise me. I just need the facts. You know I need the facts Rome. I don't do a job without all the facts." She did air quotes.

Crossing his bad leg over his knee, he sighed. She knew that he knew she was right. She could always tell when he was holding back. She chalked it up to having known him since they were both kids living down the street from each other. It had been a predominately Latino neighbourhood and Rome had been the first kid not to shun her and whisper "gabacha", white girl. They'd become fast friends and over the years, he'd become closer to her than a brother. They were almost family. He knew better than to withhold information from her, especially when she was putting her life on the line.

"It's complicated ya see." Romeo started, he struggled with what to say next. "I don't even really know the whole thing myself. Murph and Branna, well they got some unfinished business if ya get my meaning." He finally finished waving his hand in the direction the pair had gone.

Jess nodded slowly. She understood but that wasn't enough for her to waste her ammunition or her life.

"Unfinished business? There has to be more than that Rome. Why would you call me if you don't know the whole story! I can't put my life on the line for some bullshit revenge against a former lover or whatever; you said this was serious shit. I need the full story right now or I am out of here."

Romeo threw his hands up. Before he could answer, Connor set down to cup of black coffee on the table and took a seat on the chair across the stout coffee table.

"Look, it's complicated. Like Romeo said. Branna and me brother have a history, but their history has little to do with what we're needing the help fer. The man we're after, Fitzpatrick? He killed countless people with nail bombs when he lived in Ireland as part of a guerrilla style militia called the Republican Army."

He paused, waiting for her to nod her understanding.

"One of the men he killed was Branna's brother. She's been looking for him fer near ten years so she can put a bullet through his fucking head. He's found her now, and neither Murph nor I will let Branna go into this by herself. Colin's got himself hooked into the Winter Hill gang. He has old time Irish gangsters backing him. They may not be super tough, but they aren't fucking stupid either."

Jess screwed up her mouth trying to sort through the information. It all seemed to make sense except for the fact that Murphy had just finished gobbling Branna's face and the feeling between the two was just close to be more than 'just friends'

"Well, that is fine and fucking dandy. It doesn't, however, explain to me why your dear brother was just sucking face with her? I just need to know everything. If I'm going to risk my life, I need to know what the possible liabilities are. If there is something going on between them that is more than just a casual fuck, I need to know. I need to know that everyone I work with is capable of the same thing." Her tone was pointedly obvious.

She watched Connor's eyes fill with anger. He clenched his fist around his coffee. White knuckling the mug, he took a long sip. Fixing her with a strong and penetrating look he spoke, his voice almost shaking with fury.

"I don't take comments like that lightly love. Remember who yer fucking dealing with here. Murph and I are more than capable of killing at a moment's notice, don't ye fucking forget it. As for Murphy and Branna? I'll tell ye this much, it is much more than just a casual fuck. What they have going on, that's between them. Ye don't need to worry yer pretty little red head about it. Both of them are more than capable of putting the job before everything else. If that is what ye be getting at."

Jess heard everything he'd said. In fact, the tone of his voice made her sweat a little. Maybe she'd taken him a little too lightly in the beginning. His clumsiness and quiet humour was gone now. Now, she was looking into the eyes of Connor MacManus, one of the Saints of South Boston. The look he gave her told her exactly what he would do to her if she even thought about speaking ill of his kin again. Strangely enough, all she could really focus on was that he'd called her pretty. A pretty little red head to be more precise, and not necessarily under the best tense but it was pretty nonetheless. Feeling suddenly put in her place, she lowered her eyes.

"Alright, fine. I just wanted to know what I was getting into exactly."

Connor relaxed almost immediately. Tension gone, he looked towards the closed bedroom door where one could hear faint giggling.

"Oi, Murph ye mind getting yer arse back out here? We have some things to discuss." Connor called.

The hushed giggling stopped abruptly and a red-faced Branna emerged from behind the doorway. Her green eyes were glittering and she looked like she could barely contain her laughter. She took a deep breath and shook her head.

"We're having technical difficulties Connor. It might be a second."

Jess looked at Connor and her confusion grew. He looked as confused as Jess felt. When Branna didn't move from the doorway, with only her shoulders poking out, Connor stood to go investigate. He peered around the bedroom door and guffawed louder than Jess thought was possible.

"Oh fer Christ's fucking sake. How in the fuck?" she heard him say as he disappeared behind the door chuckling.

She could hear Murphy's frustration at his brother's glee of whatever the situation was. Branna sounded like she was crying she was laughing so hard. Finally, Jess couldn't take it anymore. Standing, she looked at Romeo. He shrugged. A few quick steps and Jess swung open the door herself. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

Branna was on her tiptoes with her groin pressed tight against Murphy. She was trying to maintain her balance and gripped the dark haired twins shoulder with an iron fist. She was stifling her laughter with her other hand. Murphy was holding out the waistband of his pants and Connor was crouched at groin level. He appeared to be trying to unstick them. He looked up when Jess cried out with a laugh.

"What's so fucking funny?" Murphy said exasperatedly.

Jess pointed at his crotch.

"What the fuck?" she said between breaths. Branna just shook her head.

"He tried to get fresh with me and apparently me jeans really wanted to get fresh with his." She cried as tears of laughter ran down her face.

Connors face was a mixture of concentration and pure amusement. He fiddled with the buttons on the waistbands and the zippers but he wasn't getting anywhere.

"Ye got small fingers? I don't think I'll be able to unzip them." He said, his eyes twinkling with delight.

Jess nodded.

"Let me see what I can do."

Coming closer to the stuck together jeans, she cocked her head to the side to get a better angle. The ring of the zipper tag of Murphy's jeans had actually slipped itself through the zipper tag on Branna's jeans. Biting her lip, Jess went to work. After a few long minutes, the two were separated.

Branna fell backwards onto the bed holding her belly and laughing. Murphy, finally freed, rubbed his hands over his face and started laughing. Connor was rolling on the floor with tears in his eyes and Jess couldn't help but laugh with them.

"Hey? What the hell is going on in here? You leave the gimp out in the living room while you all come in here to party? No fucking way! That is NOT funny!"

All the heads in the room spun to the doorway. Romeo stood, leaning on his cane glowering at them. The sight made them all burst into another fit of hilarity.


End file.
